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1810 



Si 



THE 

Minstrel of t{je Jlortf); 

OR, 

CUMBRIAN LEGENDS. 

BEING A 

POETICAL MISCELLANY 

OF 

Hegentmtg, ©otfnc, anD JRomanttc, Cales. 



HMp 



— »®4^_ 



By J. STAGG, Esq. 




■ ■a eeeioioce*— 



Upon the summit of the hill 

Along the margin of the lake, 
Or by the windings of the rill, 

Wild Fancy may her rambles take ; 
Or 'midst the ruins once renown'd, 

The cloister, or the dreary cell, 
The food of Genius may be found, 

For there the Muses love to dwell. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED BY HAMBLIN AND SEYFANG, 
QUEEN-STREET, CHEAPSIDE. 

FOR THE AUTHOR, AND SOLD BY J. BLACKLOCK, 
ROYAL EXCHANGE. 



1810. 



•p 



7f s*n ° 



TO HIS GRACE 



THE 



DUKE OF NORFOLK, 



s*# 



My Lord, 

THE universal benevolence, and suavity of 
manners, which so justly characterise your 
Grace, could alone have emboldened me to 
present myself to your attention. Your 
uncommon partiality to the inhabitants 
of, and to every thing connected with, the 
county of Cumberland, is the only motive 
which has prompted the author (a native of 
that county) to offer this Work to your pro- 
tection and patronage. Upon its merits, 
my Lord, I am silent. Unaided, and un- 
known in the «reat world, I have occasion 



DEDICATION. 

for, and do solicit, your patronage. The 
avowal which I had the pleasure of hearing 
you make, at the last Cumberland Anniver- 
sary, of your esteem for my native country 
and countrymen, combined with your Grace's 
goodness on every other occasion, leave me 
no room to doubt that you will pardon this 
application, presented with the profoundest 
respect, by, 

My Lord, 

Your very humble 

and obedient servant, 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFATORY APOLOGY, 



AS the privation of sight has naturally pre- 
cluded me from attending, with any degree of ac- 
curacy, either to the composition, correction, or 
revision, of this work, I doubt not, nay, I am cer- 
tain, that a number of errors must have inevitably 
escaped my observation, as well in the transcrip- 
tion as in the typography ; but when the candid 
and benevolent public come to reflect on the num- 
berless difficulties with which I have had to com- 
bat, I hope they will not long hesitate to pardon 
and overlook the many imperfections they will 
necessarily meet with. 

If this volume were destined to fall into the 
hands of the critics alone, I should have but 
very little hopes of mercy ; as I am sensible that 
the Judges in Literature, like those in the Law, 
are bound, by the duties of their profession, to 
give judgement impartially, tho' lenity is much 
more becoming in both than severity. But it is not 
to these literary arbitrators I refer myself. The 
public are my judges ; and to that tribunal alone 
I shall make my appeal. If, from the numerous 



PREFATORY APOLOGY* 

and respectable numbers who have honoured me 
with their attention and patronage, I may be al- 
lowed to form an}^ presage, I would venture to 
predict, that the reception of my book would not 
be the most unfavourable. How far the general 
tenor of these pieces may be approved, I shall 
not presume to say ; but the present perversion 
of taste, and the romance mania so prevalent now- 
a-days, almost demonstrates to me, that Essays of 
a more serious and regular nature would not be 
universally received with such a degree of encou- 
ragement. The avidity with which the works 
of Lewis, Wadsworth, Southey, and Scott, are at 
present perused, determined me to attempt this 
species of composition ; and as there are a great 
many historical and romantic legends existing in 
Cumberland ; with a number of other Gothic sto- 
ries prevalent in the North, the scenes and subjects 
of which were unfixed and unconnected with any 
particular spot, I felt myself convinced, that a 
versification of these stories, which in some man- 
ner were topographical, and to localize others, 
would not prove ungratifying to a great number 
of readers, especially the admirers of Gothic and 
romantic literature. How far I have been suc- 
cessful, the world will soon inform me ; and on its 
candour and clemency are founded all my expec- 
tations. I know there is a great disparity in the 
pieces, and that some are very inferior to others 



PREFATORY APOLOGY. 

in point of poetical merit ; but the flattering as- 
surances I had from many of my friends, previous 
to my ever thinking of publishing them, together 
with the encomiums and encouragement given me 
by several members of the University of Oxford, 
during my stay in that city, made me resolve to 
venture myself and my work on the candour and 
benevolence of the public. I have a number of 
pieces yet un transcribed, and several others in a 
half digested state. I purpose speedily to publish 
them in a second volume, or else to republish the 
whole in two volumes, with appropriate, annota- 
tions, corrections, and emendations. 

To the numerous and respectable list of Gentle- 
men, who have honoured me with their subscrip- 
tions, I shall ever confess the highest obligation, 
and am, with the profoundest respect, 

Their most obliged 

And very humble servant, 

J. STAGG. 



CONTENTS 



THE Hermit of Rockcliffe. . , . Page I 

The Rose of Corby.-.. 59 

Sir Adam of Crook-Dake - . .90 

Arthur's Cave _ 105 

The Messenger of Death 112 

The White Woman 118 

The Water-Spirit . . .123 

Johnny Brown and Granny Bell m ... ISO 

The Harper ? 135 

The Frightful Beauty , 155 

Allen and Ellen 164 

The Mountain Maniac 171 

Marion Mackye 184 

The Cruel Huntsman 189 

The Mysterious Visitor 200 

The Fratricide- . 210 

The Pilgrim - 215 

Fatal Omens 225 

The Infernal Ferryman 238 

Jessica, Joe, and the Soldier 250 

The Death of Orfin 253 

The Vampyre 261 

A Fairy Tale ,,..-269 

The Sword 281 

The Earth King 9 293 

Lord Baldwin « 309 

The Witch of Eskdale 324 

The Foundling 338 

Sibert and Eleanor - 352 

The Unfortunate Wanderer 367 

Odo the Proud , 371 



THE 



fflimtxtl of rije Jiort^ 



THE 

HERMIT OF ROCKCLIFFE, 

9 JUgenDatg Cale> 



»0« 



JiV FOJXR CANTOS, 



CANTO I. 

THE ev'ning lowYd> the wind blew hard, 

And furious roar'd the tide ; 
Fast homeward to his humble shed 

The weary ploughman hied. 

And madly Esk* and Eden ran, 

Swoll'n by the falling rain, 
When Alfred led fair Imogen, 

Bewilder d, o'er the plain. 

* The Esk and Eden, two rivers j the one rising in Westmoreland, and 
tbe other in the southern part of Scotland ; their waters join a little above 
Bowness, in Cumberland, and, by their confluence, and the junction of som* 
ether streams, constitute what is called Solway Frith, 

B 



THE HERMIT 

On either side a river roar'd ; 

Dismay'd, they walk'd between ; 
For neither to the right nor left 

One glimpse of light was seen ! 

But, lost amidst surrounding gloom, 
With unknown steps they sped ; 

Unconscious of the way they went, 
And stupified with dread. 

At length, when sinking with their fears, 
They spied a glimm'ring light ; 

Which seem'd at no great distance thence, 
And cheer'd their longing sight. 

Young Alfred calfd with all his might, 
The rocks re-echoed round ; 

An answering voice return'd the call, 
With kind inviting sound. 

TVas Edmund, hermit of the hill, 
In Rockcliffe known of yore, 

W'hose hospitable cottage still 
Receiv'd the wand 'ring poor. 

Once noted was this holy man, 

For piety and pray'r ; 
Tinstruct the blind, and aid the weak, 

Was his peculiar care. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 

The waud'ring pair pursued the light, 
And soon attain'd the hill; 

The friendly Hermit at his cell 
Receiv'd them with good will. 

For them, with heaps of added turf, 
He mends his homely fire ; 

Their sufY'rings and their wants to sooth, 
Appear'd his sole desire. 

With frugal, but with wholesome food, 
The table soon was spread, 

And whilst they ate, their kindly host 
Prepar'd their humble bed. 

And now, refreshed, the cheerful group 
In various converse join'd ; 

The angry storm that howfd without. 
No more the pilgrims mind. 

The cautious hermit then began 

To ask the youthful pair, 
By what misfortune or mischance 

So late they travell'd there. 

When thus, young Alfred soft replied, 
" Most rev'rend father, wait 

With patience, and th' eventful tale 
To you I will relate. 

b2 



4 THE HERMIT 

" Since Bannockbourn's* unhappy day, 

The Scots, but ill at rest, 
Of England's weakness well aware, 

The borders sore infest. 

" Poor Cumberland, the most expos'd 

Has felt in many a fray ; 
Our towns they burn, our flocks and herds 

By force they drive away. 

" Three days are scarcely past and gone, 

Since a ferocious band, 
Of wild freebooters from the North, 

Invaded Cumberland. 

" Thro' Brough the bold banditti sped, 
Rude rapine mark'd their course, 

To Orton, and to Dalston next, 

For none could check their force, 

" As in their unresisted route 

Before them all recoil, 
And of our cattle, and our corn, 

They swept a mighty spoil. 



* Bannockbourn, near Stirling ; where was fought the memorable battle 
between the English, commanded by Edward the Second, and the Scots by 
Robert Bruce, in which the former, though upwards of a hundred thousand 
strong, were defeated, and totally routed by the latter, though not above 
thirty thousand. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 

" To brave Sir Barnard's hall they march'd, 

Which undefended lay. 
And his fair daughter Imogene 

They, captive, bore away. 

" Alarm and horror loudly rang 
Throughout the ravag'd land ; 

For no collected force had we, 
These ruffians to withstand. 

" At length the neighb'ring barons heard: 
Enrag'd, their powers they rose ; 

And forth their num'rous vassals led, 
Their progress to oppose, 

" But, when the Northerns understood 
That Cumbria's chieftains led 

An army forth, to check their course, 
To Scotland back they sped. 

" By Bowness bent their tardy march ; 

Their plunder went before ; 
And, fording through the Solway, soon 

Regain d the Scottish shore. 

" Nor long behind the English force 

In idle dalliance staid, 
But, urg'd by fury and revenge, 

With speed for Scotland made. 



THE HERMIT 

" Nor long we vainly sought the foe, 
Who slowly onward wound ; 

And, sore encumber'd by their spoils, 
Had gain'd but little ground. 

" At our approach, like base-born slaves, 
Their plunder they forsook ; 

Nor far the cowards we pursu'd, 
But all the spoil re-took. 

" All, save the lovely Imogene, 
Who, held by ruffian force, 

A fierce freebooter, screaming, bore 
Away upon his horse. 

" With love and vengeance doubly nYd, 

I urg'd my nimble steed ; 
And, turning by a nearer path, 

Pursued them with all speed. 

" Soon the bold ravisher I charg d, 

For, by one deadly blow, 
My faulchion trench'd his sever'd crest, 

And lifeless laid him low ! 

" Half dead with horror and despair, 

The rescued maid I bore 
Triumphant to the place, where late 

We had encamp'd before. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE, 

" But how was I surprise and vex'd, 

To find our party gone, 
And we, amidst a hostile land, 

Unsuccour'd, left alone. 

" The western sun o'er Criffel's* brow 
Glanc'd his departing ray ; 

What should be done !— the foe was near, 
And dang'rous was delay. 

" Unknown, unaided, and forlorn, 

We left the fated place ; 
And, back to Cumbria, by the route 

We went, our way retrace. 

" But, as athwart the moorland waste, 

The way was ill to find, 
With moss and quagmire interspers'd, 

I left my horse behind. 

" With Phoebus' last departing ray. 

We forded thro' the Sarke ;f 
But e'er we well had pass'd the Esk, 

'Twas grown completely dark. 



* Criffel, a very high mountain in the south-west borders of Scotland. 

+ Sarke, a small river which empties itself into the Esk near Gretna- 
Green, and which, for a few miles in that neighbourhood, divides Scotland 
from England. 



THE HERMIT 

H When quite bewilder'd in despair, 

We trac'd the sandy coast ; 
And, but for your directing light, 

Had certainly been lost. 

11 But, since your hospitable cell 

A kind asylum lends, 
Our future gratitude, I hope, 

Shall make you full amends, 

u Our home, if heav'n permit, we may 
Reach with to-morrow's light ; . 

And Imogene again shall glad 
An anxious father's sight." 

u But who art thou, advent'rous youth F 
The rev'rend Hermit cried ; 

" What is thy lineage, to what house 
Art thou by birth allied ? 

" For, if from actions aught we may 

Of pedigree divine, 
Thine would bespeak thee of a class 

Above the vulgar line.^ 

To whom, young Alfred, courteous youth. 

Thus modest made reply — 
" Of no distinguish 'd high descent 

Or family am I. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 

" In fact, my birth is quite obscure ; 

My origin is low ; 
That I the parents never knew 

To whom I being owe, 

" A father's kindness I ne'er felt r 
Nor shar'd a mother's fears, 

For in Sir Barnard's hall I Ve liv'd 
From my most infant years." 

" Alas, my son !" the Hermit cried, 
" How like my own, thy fate ! 

But may it never be thy lot 

To know my wretched state ! 

u For mine has been a life of woe ; 

Eventful as severe, 
From my nativity till now 

That you behold me here. 

" And since the ardent flame of love, 

So plainly is display 'd, 
That in thy youthful bosorn burns, 

Towards that beauteous maid ; 

" Perhaps my more than common tale 
To thee may useful prove, 

And caution thee to shun those ills 
That spring from misplac'd love, 
c 



10 THE HERMIT 

" Tho' the recital may produce 
To mem ry new born pain, 

Yet, for your 'vantage, will I tell 
My tale of woes again. 



THE HERMIT "S TALK 



CANTO II, 

CHILD of obscurity, and doom/d 
Thro' life to feel distress, 
My infancy commenc'd in woe, 
Nor age has suffer'd less. 

" As on a fair autumnal morn, 
Sir Michael of the Moor 

Arose, to join the cheerful chace, 
He found me at his door ; 

" Within a wicker-basket stow'd, 
And wrapt with curious care ; 

A medal, pendant from my neck, 
The name of Edmund bear. 



OF ftOCRCLlFFE. 11 

" But none could tell who brought me there, 
Or guess from whence I came ; 

The only information left 
Was barely of my name. 

" The knight he took me to his hall, 

And gave me to his wife, 
And, with a parent's fondness, watch'd 

My helpless infant life, 

" Nor in my education aught, 

Or pastime ever spar'd ; 
For I, in common with his own* 

Each fond indulgence shar'd. 

" Meanwhile, brought up with fostVing care. 

To manhood fast I grew, 
Each manly art and exercise 

Accustom'd to pursue. 

" Full fast, full fleet, without alloy, 

My years of youthhood run, 
For, till fourteen, had I supposed 

Myself Sir Michael's son. 

" Indeed, his kindness and his car£ 

So taught me to believe ; 
And, till the fatal truth I knew., 

I ne'er had cause to grieve, 
c 2 



2 THE HERMIT 

* But, when I luckless came to know 
Th' obscureness of my name, 

My youthful ardour fled, and left 
My cheek sufTus'd with shame. 

" In solitude I mourn'd my lot, 
In silence sigh'd my woe, 

And all from Providence I sued 
Was, but myself to know. 

" With kindly care Sir Michael strove 
My sorrows to suppress, 

And each amusing effort tried, 
To soothe my sad distress. 

" A thousand arts to lull my grief, 
My gen'rous patron tried, 

And wheresoe'er the Baron went, 
I still was by his side. 

" The brave Sir Guy de Morville once. 

So chane'd it to befall, 
My noble foster-father had 

Invited to his hall. 

<f As to promote my happiness, 
Seem'd chiefly his intent, 

So, since the visit promis'd fair, 
To Brough with him I went. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE, IS 

" Sir Guy de Morville was a knight 
Of whom the world might say, 

That England's realm a braver peer 
Possess'd not in his day. 

" The grandson of the brave Sir Hugh* 

Our second Henry's friend, 
By whom imperious Becket met 

His just but tragic end. . 

" Near Brough his stately castle stood, 

Magnificent in show, 
Whose lofty towers defiance wav'd 

To each invading foe. 

" Around his numerous vast domains 

Extended widely lay, 
For half of spacious Cumberland 

Confess'd his mighty sway. 

" Tho' far around his manors spread, 

Tho' hosts his subjects were, 
His hospitality excelfd 

His opulence by far. 

* Hugh de Morville, one of those who assisted in the assassination of 
Becket, at Canterbury ; his residence was chiefly at a castle at Brough, or 
Burgh, five miles west of Carlisle, where yet remains an entire tower ; it is 
of the same form so commonly found in the North of England and many- 
parts of Scotland, t. c. quadrangular. At present it constitutes the steeple 



14 THE HERMIT 

u With my indulgent patron here 

Right courteously I far'd, 
And in the pleasures of the place 

An ample portion shar'd, 

" Each kindly striving to remove 
The pressure of my thought, 

Whilst every new successive day 
New entertainment brought 

" Sometimes along the spacious marsh 

We chas'd the nimble deer, 
Or else in angling spent the day. 

On Eden's waters clear. 

" Or sometimes with the baying hounds, 
The neighboring woods explore, 

And from the sheltering thicket drive 
The fierce and bristly boar. 

" Thus, whilst at Brough, each coming day 
Brought scenes of fresh delight, 

And balls, and various modes of mirth, 
Concurr'd to cheer the night. 



of the parish-church of that place. This castle had, probably, been de- 
stroyed when the Scots, under the command of Robert Bruce, made their in- 
cursioninto Cumberland, A, R. 16th Ed. II. 1323 or 4. 



OF ROCKCLIFtffc. 15 

" By these my wonted gloom appeared 

To be dispell'd apace, 
And gay' hilarity and mirth 

Establish'd in its place. 

" I now had reached my eighteenth year, 

And was by all confest 
To be of an engaging mein, 

And person too, possess'd. 

" But, conscious of my birth obscure, 

My views had stinted scope, 
And timid diffidence repell'd 

The very hand of hope, 

" It chanc'd one night the gay Sir Guy 

An entertainment made, 
For our amusement, which compris'd 

A ball and masquerade. 

" Full many a Lord and Lady came, 

In gallant garb and gay, 
Nor could Carnarvon's* court then boast 

Of splendor more display. 



* The surname of Edward II, so called from being born in Carnarvon 
Castle, in Wales. 



16 THE HERMIT 

" Their blithest airs the minstrels play'd, 

The vaulted roofs resound 
With mirthful measures thro' the hall : 

The dancers shift around. 

" The laugh, the song, their heartfelt joy, 

Full easy might betray, 
Nor discontinued were those sports 

Until the dawn of day. 

" Amongst the ladies that were there, 

Was one of graceful mein, 
Her noble stature and her air 

Might well have grac'd a queen. 

u Tho* love, as yet, had never play'd 

Around my youthful heart, 
Yet now, I made myself assured, 

I felt its poignant dart. 

" The more I danc'd, the more I talk'd, 

With this engaging dame, 
The more convinc'd was I my breast 

Had caught the furious flame. 

" With dancing tir'd, and warm with wine, 

I press'd the lovely fair 
Awhile to leave the busy train, 

And breathe the open air. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 17 

,k All-yielding to my utmost wish, 

She left the jocund throng, 
And thro' the garden s fragrant walks 

Well pleas'd we stroll'd along. 

" At length we reach'd a secret bow'r, 

Amid the thick'ning grove, 
Where we indulg'd in each excess 

Of fond, but lawless love. 

" With strange emotions back I led 

My charmer to the Hall, 
And with the jovial groupe resum'd 

The pastimes of the ball. 

" But, what confusion in my face 

Must ev'ry eye have known, 
Had not my mask concealed the blush 

Which conscience would have shown ! 

" At length the rosy tinge of morn 

Illum'd the mountains' heads, 
The weary wantons quit their sports, 

And, yawning, seek their beds : 

" I to my wonted chamber went, 

But here I found no rest ; 
The mingled pangs of guilt and love 

So occupied my breast 



18 THE HERMIT 

" Long e'er the castle-bell had rung, 

My pillow I forsook ; 
And to the arbour in the grove 

Ji wistless saunter took. 

*f In contemplation wrapp'd profound, 
My hapless fate I mourn'd; 

Whilst in my heart the torch of love 
With fiercer ardour burn'd. 

11 Should she, the object of my love, 
Once come to know niy state, 

Full well I knew that all my hopes 
In her must terminate. 

" My face, assisted by my mask, 

I carefully conceal'd, 
Certain, with shame, t' have been repuls'd, 

If that had been reveal'd. 

u But then, the cause that favour'd me 

Now added to my woe; 
It hinder'd me from knowing her, 

Whom most I wish'd to know. 

" Back to the castle I repair'd, 

And enter'd by the hall : 
The company at breakfast sat ; 

I look'd— I notic'd all. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE, 10 

" But all in vain inquiry prov'd, 
Or passion made me blind, 
For her the most for whom I sought, 
Her no where could I find* 

" But now the cruel fatal time 

For our departure came ; 
It follow'd, that I must of course 

Attend Sir Michael home. 

" With doleful heart, and downcast eye, 

I left the place behind, 
Whilst burning love and black despair 

United in my mind, 

" No lover, e'er before, thought % 

Thus cruelly was cross'd ; 
To find a treasure, and the same, 

In finding, to be lost* 

u For her in secret long I pin'd* 

And search as useless made, 
Till time, that conquers ev'ry ill, 

That too, at length, allay'd, 

" Tho' ocean into mountains rise, 

W T hen tortur'd by the wind, 
In time the conflict will subside-^ 

So fares it with the mind, 



2,0 THE HERMIT 

" Sir Michael's kindness to my cares, 
The best of balsams prov'd, 

And time compelled me to forget 
That ever I had lov'd, 

" Full sixteen years I calmly pass'd 

In philosophic joy, 
Nor e'er one incident occurr'd 

That quiet to annoy. 

* l Not but a thought of former times, 
Would sometimes fill my head ; 

But, like a recollected dream, 
Soon these ideas fled. 

" About this time, to Lowther Hall,* 
By old Sir Michael sent, 

All gaily mounted and array 'd, 
With lightsome heart I went 

" Thro* Inglewood my journey lay, 
A forest long and drear, 

But, clad in armour cap-a-pee ? 
My bosom felt no fear. 



* Lowther Hail, in Westmoreland* the scat of the Right Honourable the 
r ,arl of Lonsdale. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 21 

" But e'er I had proceeded far 

Along the lonely course, 
Four villains from a thicket ruslf d, 

And dragg'd me from my horse. 

" Resistance little could avail, 

All courage was in vain, 
They robb'd and stript me of my clothes, 

And left me in the lane. 

" Unaided thus, and closely bound, 

Sore bruis'd — in sad dismay, 
Exposed amid the winter's storm, 

Beneath a hedge I lay. 

" When Providence, whose guardian eye 

Still watches o'er distress, 
Sent Launcelot, of Eden side, 

My sufferings to redress. 

" Assisted by his faithful train, 

He raised me from the ground, 
And, with officious kindly care, 

Tied up each bleeding wound. 

" Then raising me, all deadly pale, 

They plac'd me on a steed, 
And Armthwaite Castle* being near, 

There carried me with speed. 

* Armthwaite Castle, the seat of the late G. il . Melbourne, x^q. 



22 The hermit 

" Here such attention was employ *d f 

Essential to my case, 
That long I linger'd not ; their care 

Recover'd me apace. 

" Yet, tho' their kindest efforts serv'd 
My rankling pains to heal, 

Rescued from those, I was but doom'd 
Severer pains to feeL 

" Within the castle liv'd a maid, 
Unknown to public fame, 

With every female beauty blest, 
And Bertha was her name. 

" Yet doubtful was the maid's descent, 
Her lineage so unknown, 

That of her kindred no one knew, 
Unless the knight alone. 

" I saw fair Bertha, and the sight 

Prov'd fatal to my rest ; 
I lov'd— nor by each effort tried 

That love could be suppress'd. 

" I saw, I lov'd, nor ought could sooth 

The fever of my soul ; 
Nor time, nor distance, nor resolve, 

The passion could controul. 



OF ROCKCLIFPE. S3 

" With time, that conquers common cares, 

I found the flame increase, 
And absence render'd more acute 

The pain 'twas meant to ease, 

" With ardent suit I woo'd the fair, 

I won her virgin heart ; 
She soon confess'd her bosom bore, 

With mine, an equal part. 

" W T hat joy the declaration gave,, 

No language can define, 
And lovers only can conceive 

The transports that were mine. 

" Sir Launcelot I next address'd, 

And each persuasion tried, 
For his permission to espouse 

Fair Bertha as my bride. 

K With answers quite equivocal, 

The knight my suit amus'd, 
Nor ever plainly gave consent, 

Nor perfectly refus'd. 

" Tir'd with evasion — fir'd with love, 

I press'd the lovely fair 
To leave the castle, and with me 

One common fortune share. 



24 THE HERMIT 

u The yielding maid approved the plan, 

And in the silent night, 
To an adjacent church, unseen, 

We took our lonely flight. 

" The rev rend father of the place 
Soon tied the Gordian knot ; 

And now I deem'd fair Bertha mine. 
All happiness my lot. 

" Next dav the convent we forsook, 
And, furnish'd with a guide, 

To my kind foster-father's hall 
I led my blushing bride. 

" The good old man appro v'd my choice, 

But blam'd the rash event, 
Yet promis'd speedily to gain 

Sir Launcelot's consent. 

" But now 'twas needful to proceed 

On some new mode of life; 
Besides myself, I had to care 

For a deserving wife. 

" Nor stopp'd Sir Michael's kindness here, 

In friendship ever warm ; 
For, with a father's care, for me 

He stocked a neighb 'ring farm ! 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 25 

" To husbandry accustom'd, I 

Each labour could pursue, 
And, tho' but young, fair Bertha, she 

The arts of dairy knew. 

" Here, happy as the tuneful lark, 

Three joyous years I pass'd, 
Without one intervening care 

My happiness to blast. 

" Man's chiefest blessing, cheerful healthy 

In exercise I found ; 
And, heav'n propitious, with success 

My various labours crown'd. 

H Amidst fatigue, my Bertha's smiles, 

The tedious hours beguil'd; 
And, ere our second year was pass'd, 

She blest me with a child. 

6C My happiness was now increas'd, 

Full lovely was the boy ; 
Our equal cares the infant shar*d, 

Bestowing equal joy. 



tb THE HERMIT 



THE HERMIT'S TALE 

CONTINUED. 



CANTO III. 

HUT, ah ! how transient, and how vara 
Is ev 'ry human hope ! 
The real pleasures of this life 
Have but a little scope. 

" Uncertain of his future fate, 

Man does but little know ; 
Nor fears misfortune mid success, 

Till fate extends the blows. 

** So 'twas with me ; the morn of life, 

Unclouded, gaily pass'd, 
The genial outset made me hope 

It might for ever last. 

" Plac'd, as I thought, upon the top 

Of Fortune's giddy wheel, 
I soon was destined by just heav'n 

A sad reverse to feel. 



OF ROCKCI.IFFI, 27 

" It chanc'd upon a holiday, 

By household business sent, 
With cheerful and unheeding heart, 

To fair Carlisle I went : 

" When, as I thro 5 the cloisters pass'd, 

Intent upon my way, 
I heard a female call aloud, 

W T ho beckon'd me to stay. 

" I turn'd aside towards the grate, 

That I her will might learn, 
But, as she wore the sacred veil, 

Her face could not discern. 

" I thought I recognis'd the voice, 

But could not fancy where, 
That languid seem'd ; what I suppos'd, 

Th'efTect of pious care." 

"Draw near," the rev'rend matron said, 

" Nor apprehensive be, 
I have a question to propose, 

Which you must answer me. 

" Were you not at De Morville's hall, 

Some twenty years ago, 
And knew yo* not a lady there ? 

Now, te 1 me, aye or no. 



2$ THE HERMIT 

* Like lightning bursting from a cloud, 
The question shook my brain : — 

I humbly answer'd — " Holy Dame, 
Denial were in vain. 

" Yes, I was there ! O, heav'n ! that now 

I had it not to say; 
The pleasures of that night produced 
Me many a painful day." 

"'Now, mark me well," the lady cried, 

" As truth I shall report, 
Since fallacy, I ween, would ill 

With my profession sort. 

" Twas I, with whom that fatal night 
You wander'd thro' the grove ; 

*Twas I, with whom beneath the bow'r, 
You held illicit love. 

" So intimate as we had been, 
So fond the night before, 

I make no doubt you were surpris'd 

You ne'er beheld me more. 

II But when the reasons you shall hear, 

That caus'd this conduct strange^ 
Whate'er were your opinions then, 
Must now for others change. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. gO. 

" The noise and tumult of the night 

Had so derang'd my head, 
A burning fever the next day 

ConfiVd me to my bed. 

" Nor till a month elaps'd, or more, 

Had I my health regain -d; 
And then, but then, alas ! to know 

New cause of grief remain'd. 

u My health restored, from room to room 

Impatiently I flew; 
Of all I eagerly inquir'd 

What had become of you. 

" But each research successless prov'd, 

Enquiry was the same, 
Since none of all our household train 

Had ever learnt your name. 

n In pensive melancholy wrapp'd 

I spent a tedious year ; 
Nor tidings, during all that time, 

Of you could ever hear. 

" Worn out, at length, with peevish spleen, 

With all the world at strife, 
I suddenly resolv'd to change 

My dissipated life : 



30 THE HERMIT 

" And the remainder of my days 

To dedicate to heav'n, 
In hopes, for faults and follies past, 

By pray'r to be forgivn. 

" With this resolve, I left the world, 
And sought this sacred place % 

And have, I hope, a part obtained 
Of mercy and of grace* 

ie Full vicious was my former life, 
I own the shameful truth ; 

Yet penance hath, I hope, expung'd 
The errors of my youth. 

" Near twenty years within these walls 

Of solitude I've dwelt, 
But ne'er, in all my former life, 

Such real pleasure felt. 

" But say, of all this lapse of time, 
Where has your dwelling been ? 

That from that hour I ne'er could see 
Whom most I would have seen. 

" Since that ill-fated night, at Brough, 
How have you led your life? 

Have you a family ? If so, 

Pray tell me who's your wife. 



0F ROCKCLIFFE. 31 

" By accident I saw you pass ; 

Your form I thought I knew ; 
And, as I long had wish'd, i now 

Resolv'd to question you. 

" For, though secluded from tire world, 

Howe'er the fault you blame, 
My heart still form'd a vacant wish, 

At least to know your name." 

" Dear object of each youthful hope," 

Cried I, " what would avail 
The recollection of those woes, 

Reviving in the tale. 

" But, since 'tis you that have requir'd 

Of me the painful task, 
It is but reason I recite 

What you've a right to ask. 

fl Betimes in the subsequent morn 

Of that ill-fated night, 
I rose, and sought, but sought in vain, 

My heart's, my soul's delight 

" I ask'd of ev'ry one I met, 

Unknowing whom I sought; 
Enquiry quite successless prov'd, 

Description serv'd me nought. 



§£ THE HERMIT 

" Yoiif face, you well may recollect, 

I had not seen before ; 
Hid by the vizor which that night, 

Like all the rest, you wore. 

" This, nat rally, precluded me, 

Whatever might ensue, 
Or wheresoe'er we chanc'd to meet, 

From ever knowing you. 

u Be Morville and his friendly hall, 

In deep disgust I left ; 
The thoughts of you alone, my soul, 

Of ev ry joy bereft. 

u Sunk in despair, a lingering year 
For you I sigh'd and pin'd ; 
-- Whilst night and day your fancied form 
Was present to my mind. 

" At length the sad conflicting storm 

Subsided by degrees ; 
My mind began to re-assume 

Its former wonted ease, 

M Amusements now I sought, amidst 

The circles of the gay ; 
In beauty's charms new transports found, 

New pleasures in each day. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE, 33 

" At length a female gaind my heart ; 

Tho' quite unknown to fame, 
Bred with a knight on Eden side, 

Fair Bertha was her name. 

" Grac'd with each charm that heav n bestows, 

I sought her for my wife ; 
And now three years with her I've liv'd, 

The happiest in my life. 

" As for myself, the humble truth 

I candidly shall own ; 
I am a foundling — and, of course. 

My family unknown. 

" Left with Sir Michael of the Moor, 

Fam'd for his courtesy, 
And Edmund is the name, they say, 

My parents left with me, 

" Whilst I my narrative concise, 

In humble style pursu'd, 
I mark'd strong agitation shook 

The lady as she stood ; 

H Whilst, ill suppress'd, the struggling groan 

Did inward grief betray ; 
But when I came to close the tale, 

She shrick'd, and swoon'd away, j 

F 



S$ THE HERMIT 

" The holy sisterhood, alarm'd, 

To her assistance run, 
And from the earth, with kindly care, 

They rais'd the fainting nun. 

" All motionless awhile she lay, , 
As in the arms of death ; 

Till kirid restoratives applied, 
Recall'd the fleeting breath, 

" Thus, life recov 'ring, to the train 
She said — " My friends, retire ; 

Since with this man an interview 
In secret I require, 

" It is essential to the peace 

Of my departing soul, 
Which heav'n now calls, nor fate itself 

The summons can controul. 

" The holy father abbot, he 

Our conf 'rence shall attend, 

For I've important things to speaks, 
Ere I shall make an end." 

"So said, to their respective cells 
The female choir withdrew, 

Whilst I was introdne'd, those seats 
Of solitude to view. 



OF ROCKCXIFFE* 35 

" A man with venerable mein, 

The holy abbot, came. 
And both of us our stations took, 

Attendant on the dame. 

" Upon a lowly couch she lay, 

Her face all pale and wan, 
And gently raising up her head, 

Thus, falt'ring^ she began i — " 

" Good father, oft my youthful crimes 

I have confess'd to you, 
But the amount of half my guilt* 

Till now I never knew* 

" Unprecedented are my sins, 

And of that damning kind, 
That scarce a hope with me remains 

That I should mercy find* 

" Thou, Edmund, first of all my crimes, 

With thee my guilt begun ; — 
Nay, be not weak, but hear me out, 

To know thou art my son ! 

" Thy sire King Edward was, the First, 

A prince of high renown, 
To him I bore thee, in my youth, 

Before he bore his crown ! 
F2 



36 THE HERMIT 

" When born I sent thee to be laid 
Before Sir Michael's gate, 

But, as the servant ne'er return'd, 
I never learnt thy fate. 

" For twenty more successive years, 

My life I lewdly spent, 
Nor e'er of reformation thought, 

On pleasure solely bent.- 

" But, ah ! that night, that fatal night, 
All my offences crown'd ; 

The just reward of guilty lust 
In pregnancy I found. 

11 Asham'd — for even vice has shame, 
When it affects our pride, 

I meant, by sending off the babe, 
My infamy to hide, 

* With old Sir Launcelot she liv'd, 

Brought up in rural life, 
Her name was Bertha ; and, my son, 

That daughter is thy wife ! 

" Thy wife, thy sister, and thy child, 
All three combin'd in one ; 

A double incest ! Guiltless thou— 

That guilt is mine alone." 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 37 

*' As when from some uncommon dream 

Of horror and affright, 
A person chances to awake, 

Amid the gloom of night ; 

" The dreadful recollected scenes 

So frighten'd fancy shake, 
That for awhile the dreamer doubts 
If yet he be awake ; 

" So 'twas with me — the wondrrous talc 

Which I but just had heard, 
Seem'd so replete with horrid facts 

So full of guilt appear'd ; 

" That for awhile th' eventful whole, 

I wist not what to deem, 
But hop'd this revelation strange 

Might only prove a dream. 

" But when the frightful narrative 

I ventured to review, 
From every fact I felt convinc'd 

The whole was but too true. 

" Strange palpitations shook my heart, 
My brain seem'd whirling round ; 

And of reflection quite bereft, 
I sunk upon the ground. 



$$ THE HERMIT 

" Suspended life the abbot's care 

Soon kindly did restore ; 
And when I rose, 'twas but to learn 

My mother was no more. 

" Stung with the anguish I enduVd^ 

And all th'eventful past ; 
Imploring mercy from above, 

She sadly breath'd her last ! 

il Tears, and the pow'r of utt'rance came 

At length to my relief, 
And loud around the convent walls 

Re-echo 'd with my grief. 

u The kind superior of the place. 

Affected by my woe, 
By easy soft persuasion strove 

Sweet comfort to bestow. 

" At length the torrent of distress 

Subsided by degrees ; 
And slow the mind began t* assume 

A sort of stupid ease. 

u When thus, I cried, there yet remains 

The hope to be forgiv'n, 
Or how shall I acquitted stand 

Before the throne of heav'n P 1 



0£ ROCKCLIJTE, 5$ 

" Labour, my son," trie abbot cried, 

" To lighten your distress ; 
Tho' great eternal justice be, 
Still, mercy is no. less. 

'* Yourself, unconscious of the crime; 

No wilful guilt was yours, 
And pray'r and penance, when unfeig&'A 

Forgiv'ness still secures. 

" Then cease unnecessary grief, 

Attend the word of truth, 
An4 let amended age atone 

The follies of thy youth," 

" But tell me, rev'rend sire," said I, 
u What was that mother's name, 

To whom I owe my being, and 
Tlo whom I owe my shame? 

u Of her but little have I known, 
Yet was that knowledge such, 

That little, little as it was, 

Was far, by far too vmdtifi 

" Thy mother," quoth the courteous priest, 

" As fitly should be known, 
Sir Guy de Morville's sister was, 

A knight of high renown^ 



4Q THE HERMIT 

" In Inglevvood the baron he 

A hunting went of late, 
But being tumbled from his horse, 

Met an untimely fate. 

u And as the knight intestate died, 
Your mother, Lady Jane, 

Succeeded, by her legal right, 
To all the vast domain. 

" Of all the charters, deeds, and rights, 

I solely am possess'd, 
And now to you the whole resign, 

Such was her last request. 

" For this her last injunction was, 

In solemn charge to me ; 
And these her last and dvin^ words — 

My heir let Edmund be J" 

" Sick as I was of all the world, 
And stupid with my woe ; 

Of what avail was wealth tome, 

What joy could wealth bestow ? 

" I left the writings in his hands, 
With bonds upon record ; 

That, if the barony I claim 'd, 
The whole should be restor'd 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 41 

tff My mothers fun'ral being o'er, 

I bad the choir adieu ; 
And homeward hied with heavy heart, 

My anguish to renew. 

" My trouble yet was to be told 

My poor, my guiltless wife; 
And how must I perform the task, 

Who lov'd her as my life ? 

** And yet the task must be performed, 

Such seem'd the will of heav'n; 
Or how could I my num'rous crimes 

Expect to have forgiv'n. 

" At length I reach'd my once-lov'd cot, 

The scene of soft delight, 
But now, alas ! how sadly chang'd ! 

How dreadful to my sight I 

" Unus'd to be deserted thus, 

My Bertha chid my stay, 
And told how fearful she had been 

At this my long delay. 

" What could I do? It must be done— 

The dreadful tale I told : 
I saw my Bertha's face grow pale, 

I felt her hand grow cold J 



42 THE HER3IIT 

" The dire intelligence seem'd more 
Than nature could sustain ; 

She wistful gaz'd me in the face, 
But ne'er replied again, 

" Her tongue all utt'rance had forsook, 
Her tears refund to flow ; 

And down she sank upon her couch, 
Convuls'd in speechless woe ! 

" A burning fever on the morn 
ConnVd her to her bed ; 

And one short melancholy week 
Beheld her with the dead 1 

" The grave of Bertha I bedew'd 
With many a bitter tear ; 

But still the hand of destiny, 
All cruel, stopp'd not here : 

a For, whilst attendant on her corpse, 

I saw her to her tomb, 
A band of fierce freebooters had 

Been pillaging my home. 

" Lifeless, and welt'ring in his gore, 

My trusty servant lay ; 
My child — my last remaining hope, 

The slaves had borne away ! 



OF ROeK<:iLIFF£. 43 

" Quite madden'd with my griefs, I curs'd 
The hour that gave me breath, 

And nothing sought from heav'n so much 
As for immediate death. 



il Tho' yet but in the prime of life. 
Life seenfd t' engage no more ; 

I'd lost that heartfelt happiness 
Time never could restore, 

H So in the busy walks of men, 

Resolv'd no more to dwell, 
I left my house, and lonely sought 

The solitary cell. 

" Here seventeen lonely years I've pass'd, 

In penitence and pray'r ; 
And to alleviate others' wants 

Hath ever been my care, 

* To read the lesson of my life 

Unto a listening few, 
That, from example, they might learn 

Such mischiefs to eschew. 



g 2 



44 THE HERMIT 



CANTO IV, 



NOW, fair befall my boding heart,' 
The youthful Alfred cried, 
" Some secret impulse whispers me 
That we must be allied. 

" Tis just now seventeen years ago, 
I've heard Sir Bernard say, 

A band of furious ruffians came, 
By plunder drawn our way. 

" The country round all flew to arms, 

Nor any idle stood ; 
The robbers fled ; Sir Bernard he, 

With all his train, pursu'd. 

" And, ere they cou'd repass the Esk, 
O'ertook th' encumber'd foe, 

Who fled, and all their booty left, 
Nor stood to strike a blow ! 

" Amongst the rest it was my lot, 

On that eventful day, 
To be re-taken from the foe, 

Amongst their other prey. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 45 

" But no one there could aught impart 

Of whom or whence I came, 
For I was then myself so young, 

I scarce could lisp my name. 

" Sir Bernard brought me to his hall, 

And bred me up with care, 
Where I, with his own family, 

A father's fondness share." 

" What is thy name ? (the Hermit cried,) 

For now, methinks, I trace — 
Some recollected features stand 

Depicted in thy face." 

a When first Sir Bernard (quoth the youth,) 

Inquir'd my infant name, 
I lisp'd out Alfred, and since that 

Have still retain d the same. 

" Besides, I learned that at this time 

A mant'e green I wore, 
With Edmund and with Bertha mark'd, 

Which yet I keep in store : 

" For haply on some future day, 

Said I, this may declare, 
Thro' some auspicious accident, 

Who my sad parents are." 



40' THE, HERMIT 

" Come to my arms, (the Hermit cried,) 
Now are my wishes won ; 

Thou art my Alfred !— Gracious heav'n! 
Yes, yes-^it is my son i 

" Mysterious are the ways of fate, 
With blind and futile man ; 

And yet the ways of Providence 
Shall he pretend to scan ? 

•' For when I thought in sorrdw's course 
My life unchan g'd had pass'd, 

Kind heav n, in mercv, brings mv son 
To comfort me at last. 

" Yes, yes, my Alfred, with his care 
Declining life shall bless ; 

This moment's pleasure would o'er-pay 
An age of past distress. 

;i But, tell me, Alfred, (Edmund said,) 
Who's she that's by thy side ? 

Her bashful diffidence bespeaks 
That she is not thy bride. 

J - Beware, my son, mistaken love } 
Avoid the dano-'rous snare. 

And from a father's lesson learn 
His sorrows to beware." 



OF ftOC&CLIFFE. 47 

The lovely Imogene she blush'd* 

Confusion ting'd her cheek, 
But, bound in bashfulness, the maid 

Presumed not now to speak. 

When Alfred thus the rev'rend sage, 

Ingenuously address'd : 
w Dear sire, no foul impressions need 

Be harbour'd in your breast. 

t: For, though in life's precarious ways> 

An inexperienc'd youth, 
Yet what I've hitherto advanc'd 

Is nothing but the truth. 

" This lady you behold with me 

Is virtuous as she's fair, 
And daughter to Sir Bernard is— 

In fact his only heir. 

" I told you she was forc'd away 

By that unfeeling band, 
And that I rescu'd and restored 

Her by my single hand. 

" All this is true, that IVe declared, 

For falsehood I despise ; 
Till now a parent I neer knew, 

Then what should I disguise. 



4& THE HERMIT 

" Fair Imogene, 'tis true, I love, 
Nor has the lovely dame 

Regardless notic'd my concern, 
But felt a mutual flame. 

€i Tho' conscious of my state obscure. 
My flame I long conceal'd, 

Nor till her kind approval gain'd, 
That passion e'er reveal'd. 

" Child of obscurity and want, 

What madness should I prove. 

Had I a declaration made 
Of my ambitious love. 

" But now a ray of brighter hope 
Pervades my humble mind, 

And fairer prospects crowd to view. 
Since I a father find." 

With this avowal of his love, 

Ingenuous, as I ween, 
A deeper dye suffus'd the cheek 

Of lovely Imogene. 

For, tho' unconscious of the flame 
That prey'd on Alfred's heart, 

Her breast reciprocal had felt 
For him an equal smart, 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 49 

Thus either lover long had liv'd, 

Though equally unknown ; 
And, but for accident, that love 

They neither would have shown. 

In him 'twas diffidence alone, 

That could the flame conceal ; 
Whilst modesty in her forbad 

The passion to reveal. 

" But say, my son, (the hermit cried,) 

With all thy smothered love, 
Hast thou a hope Sir Bernard's heir 

That passion can approve ? 

u A blush diffuses o'er her cheek, 

That more bespeaks her heart 
Than all the specious figures us'd 

In elocution's art. 

" Say, Imogene, if Alfred were 

Thine equal in estate, 
Could'st thou, with good Sir Bernard's leave, 

Consent to be his mate ?" 

Confusion chok'd the beauteous maid, 

She falter'd to reply; 
She lov'd young Alfred far too well 

Her passion to deny, 

H 



30 THE HERMIT 

And yet, by modesty withheld, 

She scrupled to avow 
That love, she knew not how to hide, 

Which show'd most obvious now. 

" A happy omen, (Edmund cried,) 

As happy prove th* event ! 
Thy speechless answer almost proves 

That silence gives consent." 

" If I must speak, (the maid replied,) 

And truth be fore'd to say, 
Your son has not unpleasing been, 

To me, this manv a day, 

" But, little did I e'er suppose 

That thus his gen'rous heart, 

When mine was tortur'dwith distress. 
Endur'd an equal smart/' 

w All-gracious heavn ! (the youth exclaim'd,) 

What happiness is this ! 
Sure mortals are not oft decreed 

To share an equal bliss. 

" Which most my admiration claims ? 

Which most should I approve ? 
In this I meet paternal care, 

In that requited love !" 



OF ROCKCLIFFE, SI 

" No more, my son, (old Edmund said,) 

Thy transports now suspend, 
The night is far advanced, and claims 

That we the subject end. 

" The thing most needful, in my mind, 

Till morning I'll revolve ; 
And by that time expect to hear 

My purpose and resolve." 

The rosy-finger'd queen of morn, 

Had ting'd the eastern skies, 
Ere Morpheus had remov'd his seals 

From Alfred's drowsy eyes. 

All glitt'ring on the craggy cliff, 

The sun refulgent gleams, 
Whilst winding Eden, from below, 

Reflects the quiv'ring beams. 

When Edmund hied him to the couch 

W^here Alfred slumb'ring lay, 
And rous'd him from his deathlike sleep 

To hail the happy day. 

Then to the bow'r, where sweetly slept 

Fair Imogene, he goes, 
And, with a soft salute, awakes 

The maid from her repose, 

h2 



5% THE HERMIT 

Full gaily smiFd the blushing rose/ 
Full gaily bloom'd the thorn, 

But gayer still bloom'd Imogene, 
Upon this happy morn. 

The new-born hopies, the pleasing thoughts. 
That throng'd her lovely breast, 

Improv'd each charm, and in her eyes 
That secret joy confessed. 

Whilst Alfred, more than doubly bless'cf. 

Her rising charms survey 'd^ 
With all the extacy of love^ 

By mutual love repaid. 

This common joy the sage himself 

Seenfd partially to share ; 
And, by the present won, awhile 

Forgets his former care. 

Up to the summit of the cliff, 

The youthful pair he led ; 
When, far extended to the view, 

The spacious landscape spread. 

Northward, in: azure mists involved, 

The Scotian mountains rise ; 
And southward, Cumbria's fertile plains 

Salute the gladden'd eyes. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 53 

Here, to the east, thro' fruitful vales^ 

The Eden winds its way ; 
There, to the west, proud Solway rolls 

Impetuous to the sea. 

Here you may view the sweeping bark^ 

Swift gliding o'er the main ; 
And there urtnumber'd flocks behold 3 

That graze upon the plain. i 

Whilst to the left, thy lofty tow'rs, 

Caerlulia,* may be seen ; 
And to the right, in humble style, 

The far-fam'd Gretna-Green. 

Behold where yon embattled tow'rs 

Majestically rise, 
tVhose lofty pinnacles appear 

Envelop'd with the skies ; 

That noble structure once confessed 

De Morville for its Lord, 
And round him num'rous vassals Kv'd, 

Attendant on his word. 



* Caerlulia, the old British name of Caerlisle, from Caer„ a city, &®4 
hrxle, or Leol, a wall being situated near the Picts' walk 



54 THE HERMIT 

r * Each, by my mother's will, to me 
The same obedience yields ; 

These castles and these tow rs are mine, 
These forests and these fields. 

u But sicken'd (said the good old man) 
With sorrow, as I've been, 

What charms had affluence left for me, 
Who nought but woe had seen ? 

" Disgusted with the busy world, 

Its follies and its strife, 
I sought for solitude; resolv'd 

With heav'n to pass my life. 

" The abbot of St. Mary's, he 

Has had, since that event. 
Of all my temporal concerns 

The perfect management. 

" But, since, my lov'd, my long-lost child, 

My life revives in thee, 
Our worldy business must, henceforth, 

Entirely alter'd be. 

,c Those castles, and those wide domains, 

So bootlessly made mine, 
On marrying lovely Imogene, 

To thee I shall resign ! 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 55 

" I make no doubt I soon shall gain 

Sir Bernard's free consent, 
For cruelty it must be deem'd, 

Your union to prevent. 

" What tho* if she an heiress be, 

And he a baron brave, 
Thy portion shall be three times more 

Than all that he can have. 

" Th' extennve barony at Brough 

Is all at thy command, 
With large domains in different parts 

Of spacious Cumberland. 

" Where yon fair column proudly braves 

Th'insulting northern blast, 
Thy royal grandsire Edward,* he 

Inglorious breath'd his last. 



* Edward the First died in his camp, of a dysentery, on a spacious plain, 
•commonly called the Marsh, near Brough, on the sands, as he was on his ex- 
pedition to the invasion of Scotland. Soon after his death, a monument oi 
wood had been erected to his memory, butthisyieldingto the ravage of all- 
destroying time, about the latter end of the seventeenth century a fair co- 
lumn of free-stone was erected by his Grace the Duke of Norfolk, on the 
place where the former one had stood, with an inscription indicative of the 
character, the cause of the expedition, and the manner and time of the 
death of that illustrious monarch : this, happening to be built on an unstable 
foundation, towards the close of the eighteenth century fell down also. 
Since that, it has been rebuilt at the sole expense of the prc3ent earl of 
Lonsdale. 



56 THE HERMIT 

cl Encamp'd upon that plain, he died- — 

Destruction his design ; 
Ambition mark'd his life. My son, 

Let virtue temper thine. 

" And now, my children, to Carlisle, 

With speed let us repair, 
The father abbot shall assist 

In what is wanting there. 

" From thence the good Sir Bernard may 

With ease be advertis'd ; 
And, of our coming and design, 

Be properly appris'd. 

u For now 'tis my most ardent wish 
Your nuptials soon to see, 

Which I propose, ere I return, 
There solemniz'd shall be." 

Then to their route, with joyous hearts. 

Set out the happy train, 
Aloiig the river's verdant side. 

And soon the abbey gain. 

A courier soon Sir Bernard brought, 
Who came, w ell pleas'd, to learn 

That Imogene had rescu'd been, 
And was on her return. 



OF ROCKCLIFFE. 57 



Nor had the fair occasion long 
To sue for his consent, 

Sir Bernard was too fond by far, 
Their union to prevent. 

Rejoic'd, he gave his Imogehe 
To be young Alfred's bride ; 

And, by the rev'rend abbot, soon 
The Gordian knot was tied. 

Next morning to De Morville's hall 

The party took their way ; 
Nor e'er had Brough beheld before, 



A scene so £rand — so 



to' 



gay- 



Rejoicings for a month at least, 

On this occasion were ; 
And at their table rich and poor 

Most lib'rally did share. 

The sports concluded, and the guests 
Sped each his din 'rent way ; 

Kind Alfred sorely importuned 
His hapless sire to stay : 

But all entreaties were in vain, 
Tho' each his utmost tried. 

To tempt the solitary sire 
With Alfred to reside. 



58 THE HERMIT OF ROCKCLIFFE, 

Tenacious of his lonely life, 

He sought his humble cell, 

Resolv'd (as he to Heav'n had vow'd.) 
In solitude to dwell. 

But, as the distance was but small, 
He now and then would stray 

ToBrough, and, with his children there* 
Enjoy a happy clay. 

While Alfred and his Imogene, 
With ev'ry comfort crown'd ; 

Liv'd long— were happy, and esteem'd 
By all the country round. 




59 
THE 

ROSE OF CORBY 



»«.M»I 



b WEET sung the blackbird on the spray, 

Sweet sung the lark his matin song ; 
And sweetly sung sweet Ellen gay, 

As thro' the grove she rang'd along. 
Fair Ellen was prorioune'd the rose 

Of all the maidens far and wide ; 
No rival beauty might propose, 

To vie with her, on Eden side. 
Her sire Sir Gilferd Salkeld was, 

A doughty baron as might be, 
No neighbouring knight could him surpass; 

In wealth, throughout the north country. 
Nor more for wealth than valour fam'd, 

His prowess rang the country round ; 
The brave Sir Gilferd still surnam'd, 

For e'en at court was he renown'd. 
Fair Ellen was his only child, 

Now in her prime, with ev'ry grace ; 
In manners, as an angel mild, 

Whilst beauty's self sat in her face, 



60 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

Full many a knight of high renowny 
And baron bold with ardour strove" 
To win the fair one for his own, 

And to engage young Ellen s love. 
Amongst the undistinguish'd crowd 

Of suitors that successive came, 
Was one, a knight, right brave allow'd, 

Sir Fergus Bewick was his name : 
Great was his wealth, great was his pow'r, 

In Bew his castled mansion lay, 
And day by day within his tow'r, 

Full fourscore men enjoy'd his pay.< 
With ardour long his suit he press'd, 

Implor'd her pity, urg'd his smart/ 
Buttho* keen passion iir'd his breast, 

No flame responsive warm'd her heart. 
Thus unsuccessful with the dame, 

The sire's assistance next he sues ; 
To him proposed his suit and aim, 

In hopes the boon he'd not refuse; 
But sordid was Sir Gilferd's breast, 

Still wishful to increase his store ; 
And, tho' with more than plenty bless'd 3 

Yet, still the baron wanted more ! 
Lord Dacres had his love disclos'd, 

Not to fair Ellen, but her sire ; 
To him large offers had propos'd, 

In hopes to accomplish his desire, 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 6l 

Their wide domains contiguous laid* 

Lord D acres was of high degree, 
And where one acre Bewick had, 

It might be said that he had three ; 
This with old Salkeld more prevaifd, 

Than ev'ry argument beside. 
The suit of poor Sir Fergus faiFd, 

And Ellen's hand he was denied ; 
But in his heart no rankling wound 

His unrequited love had made : 
There love had little entrance found, 

And soon that little was allay'd. 
To Corby castle more attached, 

Than to fair Ellen by his flame, 
He to her fortunes would have match'd, 

Not minding much the beauteous dame. 
And much the same Lord Dacres, he 

The lands, and not the lady, view'd ? 
Nor caring how her heart might be, 

He diligent the father sued. 
Of Corby castle once possessed, 

He well foresaw his rising worth, 
For this would make him, with the rest, 

. The greatest lord in all the North; 
Nor was the sire less pleas'd to see 

Th 1 increase of wealth, th' increase of pow'r ,* 
That, from this sordid union he 

Should on his much-lov'd daughter show'n 



ft£ THE KOSE OF CORBT. 

Sir Gilferd to his daughter said, 

Upon a lovely morn in May, 
" Come here, my fair, my pretty maid, 

I something serious have to say : 
You're now near twenty years of age, 

And in the bloom of youthful prime, 
'Tis meet you with the world engage, 

Nor longer idly waste your time ; 
For I am old, and far in years, 

My thread of life cannot last long ; 
And many are a father's fears, 

That a dear daughter may do wrong; 
Then, ere I sink into the grave, 

As heaven alone can tell how soon, 
Of you one favour I must crave, 

And you must not deny the boon. — 
You know I've been indulgent still, 

To you no wish have I denied, 
Tor whate'er seem'd to be your will, 

With that was I well satisfied. 
So, daughter dear, with my request, 

In gratitude, you must comply, 
Obedience always makes me blest, 

I know you cannot — won't deny. 
Lord Dacres is a worthy lord, 

He likes you well, he craves your love } 
I prom is 'd, on a father's word, 

His suit my Ellen must approve. 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 63 

His vast domains wide round us lies, 

To yours this added soon shall be ; 
And you, advanc'd in rank, shall rise 

Prime lady of the North country. 
But, if perversely you refuse 

To yield consent to my request ; 
Know, 'tis notl eft to you to choose ; 

No, 'tis your father's firm behest ! 
But, fain that tyrant word — command, 

Would I excuse, mie-ht it be so ; 
Nor forth extend coercion's hand, 

To plunge a daughter into woe ; 
But your good sense, my child, I hope.. 

Will teach obedience to my will, 
Nor let you with my mandate cope ; 

So trust I to your better skill. 
If you Lord Dacre's suit approve, 

Then all I have is surely thine ; 
But if you shall refuse your love, 

Then ne'er expect a mite of mine ; 
This is my pleasure, my request — 

Nay, more — 'tis my command to you ; 
Think as you please, but choose the best:" — 

So spoke the baron, and withdrew. 
Have you beheld a new-blown rose, 

When drench'd by one fast-falling shower ; 
Its tints with more effect disclose, 

Each drop improving more the flower ? 



6*4 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

So look'd fair Ellen, pensive, mute, 

The tears fast trickling o'er her cheek ; 
To hear Lord Dacre's proxied suit, 

Unable one short word to speak. 
|Iow could she force her heart to love 

One scarcely seen, and quite unknown * 
How force her bosom to approve 

A flame repugnant to her own ? 
No ! 'tis not in a parent's might, 

To force affection — fix the heart ; 
A subtler pow'r, with subtler slight, 

Alone can execute this part. 
Amongst the knights and barons who 

So frequent throngd Sir Gilbert's court, 
For feats' of tournaments or show, 

To hunt the boar, or other sport ; 
Tho' in their gaudiest suits array 'd, 

Tho' num'rous vassals throng'd each train ; 
Tho' skill and valour were display 'd, 

And courtesy of manners vain ; 
Not one, 'midst all this proud parade, 

Of lordly guests who forward press'd, 
Had e'er the least impression made 

Within fair Ellen's youthful breast ; 
Save one : — a youth, whose modest mein 

Sppke no exalted rank or fame ; 
Him oft at Corby had she seen, 

And Musgrave was the stripling's name* 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. g£ 

No baron he, nor baron's son, 

Nor garter' d knight of high degree, 
But he with Lord De Graystock won, 

In his fair castle merrily. 
Adorn'd with ev'ry courtly grace, 

Each rare endowment he possess'd ; 
A manly beauty flush 'd his face, 

And virtue seem'd to fire his breast. 
His grandsire, whilom the domain 

Erst held of Gilsland, as I ween, 
But our sixth Harry's hapless reign 

The ruin of his house had been ; 
A small reversion had been spard, 

Whereby the family to trace, 
Of which Lord Graystock then was ward 

For Musgrave, last<of all his race. 
In him, as in the fondest sire, 

The youth a kind protection found, 
And ev ry wish, and each desire, 

Were always with indulgence crown'd. 
A train of serving-men had he, 

Alone to serve at his command ; 
And where his lord e'er chane'd to be, 

Was Musgrave close at his right hand. 
Whene'er to old Sir Gilferd's hall 

De Graystock friendly visits paid, 
The younker, let what would befal, 

One of his party always made. 



66 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

Young Ellen saw — young Ellen lov'd, 

The youth alone her heart possess'd; 
His ev'ry action she approv'd, 

And that approval soon confess'd. 
Nor unconcern'd had he beheld 

The youthful Ellen's beauteous face, 
A mutual flame his breast had fill'd, 

And ev'ry thought to love gave place ; 
But, conscious of th' inferior state 

In which he stood, he only mourn'd ; 
Bewail'd th' unkindness of his fate, 

In silence gaz'd — in secret burn'd. 
Full oft, to ease his love-lorn mind, 

An interview he sought to have : 
And love, to lovers ever kind, 

An opportunity soon gave : 
For, as one morn amidst the shade 

He rang'd, deep wrapp'd in thoughtful love. 
He chanc'd to hear the beauteous maid, 

Sweet singing thro' the echoing grove. 
With ardour wing'd, swift as a dart 

Th' impatient lover onward hied; 
But love, tho' it o'erflow'dthe heart, 

The pow'rs of utt'rance quite denied. 
Awhile in fix'd amazement stood 

Th' admiring youth, nor vent'rous spoke ; 
Her charms with heartfelt transport view'd. 

But thus, at length, he silence broke : — 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 67 

<c Say, lady fair, what brings you here, 

So far, so early, and alone?" 
Quoth she — " Kind sir, what needs me fear, 

Are not these parks my father's own? 
Here, ev'ry morn, I come to hear 

The lark his matin carol sing; 
Here, too, at ev'ning tide repair, 

Until the warning curfew ring. 
How cheering is the blackbird's song, 

How fresh 'ning is the vernal breeze, 
How glad seem all the feather 'd throng, 

Whilst gaily flutt'ring thro' the trees ! 
Fair is the landscape to the eye, 

And variegated is the scene ; 
Hush'd are the winds, whilst yonder sky 

Is all unruffled and serene. 
There Eden rolls, majestic stream ! 

Whose course the tow'ring cliffs o'ershade* 
And there Aurora's morning beam, 

From its smooth surface is display'd. 
Yon rising hills, these murm'ring floods, 

Those distant tow'rs that strike the sight ; 
These flow'ry walks, those shady woods, 

Are all conducive of delight. 
And then, how healthful 'tis to range, 

To breathe the mornings scented air? 
Why, then, kind stranger, seems it strange? 

That you should find me walking here ?" 
k2 



6$ THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

" Not that I blame your walk, (replies 

The youth,) 'tis pleasant, all must own; 
But what created my surprise, 

Was, but in meeting you alone." 
" And who should be my partner, pray ? 

(Said she) to walk along the grave?" 
" What person fitter, lady, say, 

Than he, the happy man you love ?" 
" Who is that man ? (fair Ellen said,) 

As yet I wot not, I protest !" 
" Whoe'er he be, most beauteous maid, 

He certes must be doubly bless'd," 
Good heavens ! young Musgrave sigh'd, then hush'd, 

On Ellen fix' d his stedfast eyes ; 
Whilst o'er his cheeks th crimson flush 'd, 

And she beheld him With surprise. 
fi Why stand you thus, (said Ellen,) speak ; 

Why fix your earnest gaze on me ; 
Why heaves your breasr — why glows your cheeks j 

Say, sir, what may the matter be?" 
" Forgive, fair dame, (young Musgrave cried,) 

Th' emotions prudence should conceal ; 
Emotions, which I cannot hide. 

That speak too plainly what I feel. 
To burn in secret^ long my fate, 

For thee, sweet Ellen, peerless fair ; 
But, conscious of my humble state, 

Forbore that passion to declare, 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 69 

But since the long heart-buried flame 

That rent my breast—that made me bleed, 
Bursts forth that passion to proclaim, 

Despair to folly must succeed. " 
" Despair ! (fair Ellen strait replied,) 

Brave men with fortune ought to cope ; 
The adage ne'er was yet denied — 

Faint heart — you know the rest — then hope." 
But say, what pencil shall pourtray 

The alter'd look of Mnsgrave's face? 
No common hand the task essay, 

When doubt to certainty gave place. 
Soon each to each their hearts explain, 

And diffidence was soon no more ; 
Nor long suspense prolonged their pain, 

For love had done the work before. 
From Graystock many a well-pleas'd tour, 

To Corby, graceful Musgrave took ; 
And ofttimes at the midnight hour, 

Leander-like, he swam the brook : 
There, with his rose in dalliance sweet* 

He'd stay till grey-ey'dmorn appeared ; 
Then, unobserv'd, made his retreat, 

And gladsome home to Graystock steer'cl 
But when fair Ellen came to know 

Her father's cruel, stern intent, 
Her heart was quite o'erwhelm'd with woe. 

And rage and fear her bosom rent. 



70 THE ROSE OF CORBY, 

Rage, that she should be thus compell'd 

To wed the object of her hate ; 
But most her breast with fears was fili'd, 

Lest Musgrave were informed too late, 
Th* ensuing morning was to see 

Her made Lord Dacre's married wife ! 
Such was her father's stern decree. 

And curs'd must be her future life. 
And such was old Sir Gilferd's mood, 

No reasoning e'er could change his mind ; 
For, be the project bad or good, 

He'd do what he had once design 'd. 
His temper well fair Ellen knew, 

From lenity she'd nought to hope; 
And sure desertion must ensue. 

Were she to hazard to elope. 
But then to give her willing hand 

To one her heart so disapproval, 
And, for a cruel sire's command, 

Thus to desert the man she lov'd I 
O'er each consideration weigh 'd, 

But how to act she could not tell ; 
Nice was the point, and sore afraid 

Was she to err, tho* meaning well. 
Then she call'd up her trusty page, 

And to the varlet thus said she — 
u Wilt thou now, on thy oath, engage 

To serve me once with secrecy ? 



THE ROSE OF CORBY, 71 

An errand thou must run me strait, 

A letter, too, must take withal, 
And thou must neither stop nor wait 

Till thou hast reach'd De Graystocks hail."— 
Then up and spoke this trusty page, 

And to fair Ellen thus did say : 
" In what new task must I engage, 

That you these strict injunctions lay? 
Have you not found me faithful still, 

To run or bide at your command ; 
Has not my pleasure been your Avill, 

Did I your bidding ever stand?" 
" No more, (she said;) begone with speed, 

Nor longer stop to prate — away ! 
But as I find you shall succeed. 

Proportional your reward shall be." 
Then off with nimble feet he hied, 

The silver moon bestow'd her light; 
Nor stopp'd he once, nor turn'd aside, 

Till Graystock tow'rs appear'd in sight. 
And when he reach'd the castle gate, 

He boldly rung the castle beli ; 
" Who's there! (the porter cali'd) that late, 

Thus rings; or what's your business, tell?" 
X{ Unbar the gate, (the page replied,) 

Be quick, for I've no time to stay;" 
" For what? (the churlish porter cried,) 

First, stranger, tell thy business, pray." 



7% THE ROSE OP CORBY. 

" 'Tis a fair lady's embassage, 

That I in charge to Musgrave bear; 
And I must see him, (said the page,) 

Before the morning light appear." 
Then strait the bolts the porter drew \ 

The page admitted thro' the gate, 
And quick to Musgrave's chamber flew, 

His sore-grudg'cl errand to relate. 
The slunibVino* lover from his bed 

The porter rous'd } and led him strait 
To where the page all shiv'ring staid, 

Impatient, at the inner gate, 
" What is thy business, (Musgrave said,) 

What is thy business, friend, with me ; 
That thus my slumbers you invade, 

'Midst dreams of such felicity?" 
" 'Tis much (replied the witty page) 

If e'er you dreamt, whilst in your bed, 
Of things wherein you must engage, 

E'er you again lay down your head. 
Here is a letter ; read it strait, 

From that you'll learn what's to be done j 
For me, I may no longer wait, 

I must be home ere rising sun." 
So said the page : with speed return'd ; 

Whilst Musgrave to his chamber hies ; 
His breast with keen enquiiy burn'd, 

And soon the crackling signet flies. 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 73 

But, as the tender scroll he read, 

What anxious passions throng'd his breast- 
Love, fear, and rage, by turns invade, 

And sorely was the youth distress'd. 
But not a moment now to waste 

Was left, the time was precious grown ; 
His servants Musgrave rais'd in haste, 

And soon his ticklish plight made known, 
" Attend, my gay companions, all, 

(The love-lorn anxious Musgrave said,) 
I've business now, it seems, will call 

For all your friendship and your aid. 
The beauteous rose of Corby, she 

Has sworn to be my wedded bride, 
But her stern father doth decree, 

She to Lord Dacres should be tied. 
To-morrow is the fated day 

That makes fair Ellen Dacres' wife ; 
Then rouse, my friends, nor lingering stay; 

On you depends my future life. 
Array you in your suits of green, 

Each with a sword and target bright ; 
And let us, ere De Gray stock ween, 

To Corby scour, ere morning light. 
The nearest route full well I know, 

No tell-tale shall our march report, 
la sooth, our steeds shall not be slow, 

We'll either make or mar some sport." 

L 



74 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

With haste th* ready troop obeyed, 

Each from the stall his courser led, 
And soon th'advent'rous cavalcade, 

Like lightning, from the castle sped. 
Thro' Inglewood they took their way, 

O'er lofty Berwick furious ride ; 
And, long before the break of day, 

Arrive at Eden's winding side ; 
Here, in a close embow'ring wood, 

They stopp'd awhile, whilst breath they took* 
To fix on plans to be pursu'd, 

Before they ventur'd thro* the brook. 
" By the Lord Harry, (Musgrave said,) 

Now something desp'rate must be done, 
For oft said Ellen, beauteous maidl 

Faint heart fair lady never won ! 
But here awhile we may repose, 

Till Sol yon eastern hills adorn ; 
What would be best to do, God knows — 

But nought can be achiev'd till morn." 
So said, their coursers fast they tied, 

And down on heathy hillocks lay, 
Resolv'd in silence to abide 

The upshot of the coming day. 
Forth from th' east the blushing dawn 

O'er Hartside's heights now 'gan to glare 
The lowing herds now seek the lawn 

The shepherds to their pens repair. 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 7^ 

Whilst thro' the grove the woodlark sings, 

The bleating lambkins range the hills, 
And welcome to the chorus rings, 

And smiles the face of nature fill. 
Up rose Lord Dacres with the day, 

Around him throng'd a nunfrous train 
Of knights, and 'squires, and ladies gay, 

Before his castle, on the plain. 
For Corby march'd the merry troop, 

'Twas heartfelt pleasure flush'd each face; 
Nor oft had pass'd so fair a groupe 
Thro* Giisland, on so fair a case. 
Sir Fergus Bewick by the side 

Of Dacres rode, in cheerful glee, 
In armour clad, with lordly pride — 

A gallant wight I ween was he. 
With numbers more in armour bright, 
Who gaily follow'd in the throng ; 
In sooth, it was a glorious sight 

To view them as they pass'd along. 
Scarce had the sun the hills illum'd, 

That bound fair Cumbria on the east. 
Before this troop, all gaily plurh'd, 

The western banks of Irthing press'd, 
Whilst Corby Castle near at hand, 

Rose thro* the forest, fair to view, 
When, eager now, the jocund band 
The nearly -finish'd route pursue 



76 tHE ROSE OF CORBY. 

The tuneful bell with cheerful sound, 

From WeathVhill Pri' ry haiPd the train ; 
And the re-echoing, rocks resound 

Down Eden's vale the gladsome strain. 
And soon arriv'd the cheerful band, 

Their length'ning ranks in order drawn, 
In ample lines they gaily stand, 

Extended o'er the verdant lawn. 
Old Salkeld hobbled to the green, 

And said^— " My friends, you're welcome all 
So fair a troop I have not seen 

Assembled e'er before my hall. 
How fares Lord D acres, and the rest 

Of all his jovial company ? 
All well, I hope, «o I am bless'd ; 

Come, friends, dismount — and go with me ~ 
For ere you stir, or quit this ground 

For Hymen's altar to proceed, 
The sparkling goblet shall go round, 

As, doubtless, all refreshment need." 
So said-— the grooms the prancing steeds 

Each led to their respective stall ; 
Whilst Dacres his companions leads, 

To taste the cheer oFGilferd's hall 
Here ev'ry face with joy seem'd glad, 

To trouble ev'ry heart unknown ; 
Save Ellen, silent she, and sad, 

Her chamber sought, and sigh'd alone. 



THE ROSE OP CORBY, 77 

" Where is my Musgrave, (cried the maid,) 

Why comes he not with speed to me ? 
Oh ! has my secret been betray'd, 

Or faithless can my truelove be ? 
Haste to my rescue, Musgrave, haste ; 

Or soon I'm made Lord Dacres' wife ! 
In dole my future days to waste, 

And be unhappy thro 1 my life." 
Young Musgrave heard not Ellen's moan ? 

In the green forest where he stood ; 
Yet oft his anxious looks were thrown 

To Corby, from the shelt'ring wood. 
He saw Lord Dacres, with his train, 

Arrive upon the castle green ; 
He saw them muster'd on the plain ; — 

Full sorely vex'd was he I ween. 
For full five hundred glitt'ring spears 

With Dacres' came, all fair to view, 
Their numpers rais'd the lover's fears, 

And well he wist not what to do. 
" Here are we but a score in all, 

(He said) and tho' we courage boast, 
My friends, our number is too small 

To cope with such a pow'rful host. 
Some favoring juncture I expect 

Kind heav'n, for Musgrave, shall ordain ; 
We must by stratagem effect 

What we bv force cannot obtain.. 



78 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

Expectant of our future state, 

Unseen, their movements we may view : 
The happy crisis here await 

That shall instruct us what to do : 
Whilst each of you, my trusty friends, 

Attend me, with undaunted heart ; 
That, when kind chance th* occasion lends^ 

Each may be ready for his part." 
And now prepare these gallants all, 

Each to remount his mettled steed. 
To quit the hospitable hall, 

And to the abbey strait proceed. 
Fair Ellen on a palfrey rode 

Full closely by Lord Dacre's side, 
In garment gay, dress'd a-la-mode, 

A winsome, but a woeful bride. 
Young Musgrave view'd the cavalcade 

From the green forest where he lay, 
The host, in glitt'ring arms array 'd, 

And (painful sight) his Ellen gay. 
But say, how must his youthful heart 

With agonizing rage be torn, 
To see his rose in tears depart, 

And to the church triumphant borne ! 
The temple soon the party gain, 

And soon the hallow'd rites are o'er ; 
When all soon quit the sacred fane, 

And to the hall return once more* 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 79 

TLoud mirth now fills the festive throng, 

The spacious goblets stream around ; 
The mingling laugh, the chorus'd song, 

Loud thro' th' echoing mansion sound ; 
And evVy bosom seem'd to share 

The transport* of the festive morn, 
Save Ellen— she, dejected fair, 

In secret wail'd her lot forlorn ; 1 

When loudly rung the castle bell, 

And loudly rung the echoing hall ! 
For such an unexpected knell 

Struck with surprise the strangers all ! 
" Who's there ? (the testy porter cried,) 

That with such vengeance dares to ring ; 
'Twere meet his manners he had tried, 

That doth such noisy errands bring." 
C( I bear a note, (one answer'd strait ;) 

Tis for fair Ellen s hand alone, 
And here the lady must I wait, 

Until her answer I have known." 
To Ellen swift the porter flies, 

And strait the stranger's message brought ; 
Quick to the gate the lady flies, 

And from a page receives the note ; 
With which she to her chamber flew, 

Its contents all in haste to prove ; 
But how was she surpris'd to view, 

Subscrib'd — " Your Musgrave, in the grove!" 



80 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

In this he had a plan proposal, 

In which their mutual int'rests shar'd ; 
A plan with which fair Ellen clos'd, 

And strait a feign'd reply prepared. 
Then to the hall again she hied, 

Where all the guests expectant staid : 
" What is the news, (her father cried ; 

What was that note, my pretty maid ?" 
(l Tis from my charming cousin Kate, 

Of Bray ton hail ; who sends to me, 
That, since she's been lnform'd so late, 

She begs that she excusVl may be : 
But promises, some future day, 

When all our bustle is got through, 
She'll come, and at our castle stay, 

And spend with me a week or two." 
So said — with her supposed reply 

Again she hastens to the gate ; 
The page commands aloud to fly, 

And bear her scroll, to cousin Kate. 
But, at that instant, from the trees, 

Brave Musgrave and his trusty train 
Rush forth, the trembling Ellen seize, 

And bear her, fainting, o'er the plain ! 
Each to his courser nimbly springs, 

Fair Ellen, Musgrave rode behind ; 
Love, join'd with fear, supplies them wings, 

And off they scamper'd like the wind. 



The rose of corbit. $1 

O'er Scaleby moor their route they took, 

The Esk they forded one and all ; 
Nor stopp'd they once for burn nor brook, 

Until they reach'd Gillknockie hall : 
Here Johnny Armstrong held his seat, 

Of Cumbrian marches then the pest, 
And here they found a safe retreat, 

For here what pow'r could them molest ! 
The bravest baton of the North 

At Armstrongs name would shake with dread ; 
For, when he led his legions forth, 

Wide terror round the country spread : 
For full four hundred bowmen bold 

He constant kept within his hall, 
And had, as we're by story told, 

Both horse and harness for them all. 
Now here awhile let Musgrave stay 

In Eskdale, with his Ellen fair j 
To Corby we retrace our way, 

And view again what's doing there.— 
The porter from the castle-gate 

Had partly seen fair Ellen's rape, 
And flew like light'ning to relate 

Her capture, and the foe's escape. 
Wild uproar thro' the mansion rang'd, 

That loudly echo'd with alarms ; 
Their merriment to mourning chang'd, 

And all the place resounds to arras, 



S3 THE ROSE OF CORBY. 

u To arms ! to arms ! (Lord Dacres cried,) 

To horse, my friends, without delay, 
For treason stalks — my blooming bride, 

The rose of Corby's snatch'd away ! 
The fierce freebooters of the North, 

They, doubtless, have my Ellen ta'en ; 
Then bravely let us sally forth, 

The beauteous captive to regain." 
Then northward these, and southward those r . 

In sooth they wander'd far and neaiv 
But of the luckless ravish'd Rose 

No tale nor tidings could they hear. 
For, tho' the porter saw the train 

That bore the beauteous bride away, 
To mark the route that they had ta'en y 

It seems he had no mind to stay. 
The band thus foil'd in their pursuit, 

Back to the castle slow return ; 
There, wrapp'd in stupid silence mute. 

Fair Ellen's luckless fate they mourn. 
a 'Tis strange, (Sir Fergus Bewick cried,) 

Who those bold ravishers have been, 
That could secure the hapless bride, 

And thus escape with her unseen. 
"Twould seem as if from concert she 

Had acted with the men before, 
For she went to the gate right free, 

Nor her, nor they, have we seen more/ 5 



THE ROSE OF CORBr, 83 

r 

u Now foul befall thee, false Sir knight, 

(Lord Dacres to Sir Fergus cried,) 
It strikes me now that rival spite 

Hath robb'd me of my beauteous bride, 
Amaz'd, I thy indifference saw, 

Beheld thy coolness with surprise, 
That could so easily withdraw 

Thy claims from such a precious prize ! 
Was thy pretended friendship, say, 

But meant to cozen me thy friend ; 
Meant to seduce my bride away, 

And leave thee hated in the end? 
Think not, Sir Fergus thus to deal 

With me as one thou wouldst despise ; 
Dacres has a heart to feel, 

He has a hand that shall chastise. 
For whereso'er the charming maid 

Thou hast conceal'd, or east or west, 
Be sure that this avenging blade 
- Shall force the secret from thy breast' ' 
When thus Sir Fergus fierce replied — 

" Lord Dacres, you have charg'd me wrong ; 
Such words suit ill a Bewick's pride; 

Such charges can't to me belong. 
Not one of all the Bewick line 

The name of villain ever knew, 
Much less shall coward then combine 
To stigmatize our honour too I 
m2 



84 THE ROSE OF CORBY, 

As heav'n's my judge I I do aver 

I never practis'd on your bride ; 
Nor basely would with knaves confer, 

Your nuptials thus to set aside. 
Know, Dacres, Bewick doth despise 

All falsehood, whatsoe'er its aim, 
As much as he thy rage defies, 

Or values his unblemish'd name, 
Ere I (believe me on my worcr} 

To thee in point of honour yield, 
I'll place my life upon my sword, 

And try my fortune in the field. 
Tis true I once fair Ellen lov'd ; 

But soon relinquished ev'ry claim , 
Whene'er I knew that disapproval 

Were my addresses by the dame. 
Can'st thou, Lord Dacres, then suppose 

That I could brook such villainy, 
To rob thee of thy rightful Rose, 

By practices so cowardly ? 
Ill suits it with our house's pride, 

To be thus slander'd and aspers'd ; 
Our honour has been often tried, 

Nor was our courage thought the worse*, 
Then think not, Dacres, I shall stand 

And tamely bear a villain's name ; 
With thee I'll try my willing hand, 

And vindicate my injur'd fame." 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 85 

No more they chaff 'd with useless words, 

But from the hall, enraged, withdrew ; 
Refulgent flash'd their deadly swords, 

And each to each like lions flew ! 
Sir Fergus aim'd a deadly thrust 

At Dacres' breast— he reel'd — and fell. 
Writhing with pain, he bites the dust, 

And, cursing, takes his last farewell. 
But, ere the dire vindictive wound 

Of life that Dacres dispossess'd, 
Jlis faulchion had a passage found 

Deepi n the brave Sir Bewick's breast ! 
Fast thro' the wound life's purple tide 

Rush'd forth, whilst Fergus gasp'd for breath j 
" I'm innocent !" (he falt'ring cried,) 

Then clos'd his glimm'ring eyes in death. 
With gen'ral consternation shook, 

Each knight and baron stood oppress 'd ; 
Wild horror star'd in ev'ry look, 

And anger rose in ev'ry breast. 
When thus Sir Gjlferd Salkeld said 

Unto the strangers in his hall — 
" Tis I that have this ruin made, 

'Tis I am guilty of it all. 
The fault, the folly, mine are prov'd, 

The damning thought shall haunt me still ; 
By av'rice and ambition mov'd, 

I thought to force my daughter's will 



SO THE ROSE OF CORBY, 

But, punish'd in my boundless pride, 

Whilst I that folly long may mourn, 
Fate all those prospects has denied, 

And she, my Rose, shall ne'er return, 
O Destiny ! my child restore, 

Her presence yet may soothe my pain, 
Grant me but her, I ask no more, 

And all that's mine is her's again. " 
So pray'd the parent in his grief, 

And heav'n, indulgent, heard his pray'r: 
For soon the porter brought relief — 

A letter from his Ellen fair : 
In this for pardon much she sued, 

Then pleaded in her own defence ; 
The tears the father's cheeks bedew'd, 

As he exclainfd — "Just Providence ! 
Ilow wise and wond'rous are thy ways, 

Omniscient justice ! Pow'r divine ! 
Man may a thousand projects raise — 

To execute, alone is thine. 
Yes, Musgrave, thou shalt be my son ; 

My Ellen shall be doubly dear ; 
Fate ends what blindly I begun; 

The mandate let me then revere. 
Those lands which late Lord Dacres held, 

To thee, brave youth, of right belonged : 
From them thy grandsire was expell'd, 

Anc{ all thy house most basely wrong'eL 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 8/ 

But heav'n, the orphan's faithful ward. 

Decree that they shall yet be thine ; 
Shall I then rashly disregard 

An ordinance that seems divine ? 
Soon shall the king confirm to thee 

What is by legal right thy own; 
And I shall haply live to see 

Myself yet happy in a son." 
The turns of this eventful day, 

The wond'ring crowd could but admire ; 
And each preparing for his way, 

Beg'd leave they homeward might retire, 
" Nay, by my troth, (Sir Gilferd cried,) 

This is what must not, cannot be; 
A bridal I must yet provide, 

Since one, my friends, you came to see. 
My daughter shall be sent for strait, 

And youthful Musgrave with all speed j 
Here in my castle shall you wait, 

Until you see how all succeed. 
Meanwhile, to these two luckless lords ? ; 

Our joint attentions be preferr'd, 
And, tho' the church no rites afford 

To them, yet must they be interr'd, 
That done, we here will solemnize 

My daughter's nuptials with all joy. 
And hope no accident may rise 

Again, our pleasure to destroy. 



88 th4 rose of Corby. 

Then straitway for Gillkiiockie hall 

A trusty courier they provide, 
The lovely Ellen to recall, 

And Musgrave, now old Salkeld's pride* 
With ready speed the servant flew, 

Nor ling'ring lagg'd, nor look'd behind* 
Till Armstrong's castle struck his view, 

Near where the Esk and Liddle join'di 
Soon as the massy doors unbarr'd, 

The first that he discover'd there 
Was Musgrave, walking in the yard, 

And by his side young Ellen fair. 
u What news! what news ! (the lady cried,) 

What news from Corby bring'st thou me?" 
K Good news, fair dame, (the page replied,) 

Far better than you thought 'twould be* 
Lord Dacres did Sir Fergus blame 

For your escape; with all his main, 
Their quarrel rose — at length they came 

To weapons, and they both are slain. 
Soon as your then afflicted sire 

Your letter got, his tears he dried, 
And now avows his sole desire 

That you shall be young Musgrave's bride. 
And I am by Sir Gilferd sent 

To hasten your return likewise ; 
For it is now his fix'd intent 

Your nuptials there to solemnize. 



THE ROSE OF CORBY. 89 

And Musgrave is declared the heir 

Of all Lord Dacres' vast domains, 
Which once his predecessors' were, 

And which he now by right obtains." 
" Well, thanks for thy auspicious tale, 

(Fair Ellen to the servant said^) 
When I arrive in Eden vale, 

Thy tidings shall be well repaid.'* 
So said — a friendly leave they took 

Of Armstrong and his merry band, 
The Scotian borders strait forsook, 

And post away to Cumberland. 
And mickle joy was there, I weei^ 

At Corby Castle on that day* 
When safe returning home were seen 

Young Musgrave and his lady gay. 
With cheerful glee the bells were rung, 

Whilst transport glisten'd thro' the hall, 
And rich and poor, and old and young, 

At Corby found a welcome calk 
And long and happy liv'd the pair, 

With evVy bliss that reason knows, 
And heav'n's best joys may Corby share! 

Which yet can boast a peerless Rose I 



K 



SO 

SIR ADAM OF CROOK DAKE> 

a JLegenaarg Cale. 



ARGUMENT. 
CROOK Dake is an inconsiderate hamlet, about five miles west from Wig- 
ton, in Cumberland, where stands a hall of some antiquity. We know that 
the existence of a troubled spirit of a lady, who was supposed to be mur- 
dered here, and who still continues to haunt the mansion, often making 
her midnight excursions two or three miles from the place, to the great 
terror and annoyance of the country people, is as generally believed as 
is the existence of Crook-Dake Hall itself, (I mean by the credulous of 
that neighbourhood.) We are not in possession of many biographical 
anecdotes of Sir Adam ,• and indeed the most we know of him is, that in 
the church wall of Broomfield there is a niche, containing a stone coffin r 
bearing this inscription : 

HERE LIES ENTOMBED, I DARE UNDERTAKE, 
THAT MIGHTY WARRIOR SIR ADAM OF CROOK-DAKE, 
KNIGHT. 

He died sometime in the forepart of the sixteenth century, and has proba« 
blybeen one of those heroes who rendered themselves illustrious in the 
moss-trooping wars, as the frontier counties of both England and Scotland 
were in those times in most calamitous situations, being under continual 
alarm, and perpetually exposed to assaults and invasion, and very fre- 
quently the borders of both kingdoms suffering, by turns, the most horn* 
ble ravages of predatory warfare. 

THE TALE, 

OF all the chieftains of the North, 

Since fam'd Sir Launcelot Du Lake* 
Not one that led their vassals forth, 
Could boast more valour or more worth 

Than brave Sir Adam of Crook-Dake, 



OF CROOK DAKE* 91 

When, clad in armour, glittering bright, 
The threats of war the hero scorn 'd -, 
Still foremost in the thick'ning tight, 
Both friends and foes confess'd his might, 
Whilst dignity his brows adorn'd. 

Far scatter'd lay his vast domain, 

Whilst crowds of menials throng'd his hall ; 
Five hundred warriors of his train 
He yearly muster'd on the plain, 

With horse and harness for them all. 

When England's pow'rs great Surry led 

To meet proud James on Flodden's field, 
There, at his valiant legions' head, 
The Knight thro' fair Northumbria sped, 
With shining helmet, lance, and shield, 

Here, 'midst the furious rage of war, 

The champion like a lion press 'd ; 
Whilst fell dismay before hi« car 
Proclaim'd his prowess from afar, 

And vict'ry hpyer'd o'er his crest. 

Uncertain long the conflict stood, 

With equal strife the battle rag'd s 
Whilst Tweed pour'd down a crimson flood, 
And ev'ry furrow stream'd with blood, 

Where ire with equal ire engag'd. 

N % 



92 SIR ADAM 

Where'er Sir Adam led his~ train, 

Chang'd was the aspect of the fray ; 
Before him heaps on heaps are slain, 
That check his course, and dies the plain, 
Whilst devastation marks his way. 

At length, by force superior press'd, 
The Scots forsake the camag'd field ; 

And night, in gloomiest darkness dress'd, 

Pursuit and slaughter to arrest, 

Descends, and either host conceals. 

Nor till returning morning's light, 

Wist Surry of the foes' dismay ; 
But, under arms, the troops all night 
Repose, to recommence the fight 

With the commencement of the day. 

Up rose the sun with dazzling glare, 

O'er Cheviot's hills and Noreham's tow'rs^ 

Whilst all the host, with busy care, 

For the renewing fight prepare, 
And Surry musters all his pow'rs. 

Along the Tweed the length 'ning lines 
To east and west their front extend ; 

The Chief to each concern inclines, 

To each his proper part assigns, 

Shews where t'attack, and where defend. 



OF CROOK DAKE. 95 

But what surprise possession took 

Of each expecting warrior's face, 
When with th' increasing light they look ? 
To find the Scottish camp forsook, 

Nor one alive left near the place. 

Conceal'd by night the Scots had fled, 

And left the hard-contested plain; 
Around the gore-stain'd space was spread, 
With heaps on heaps of mangled dead, 

And e'en their valiant prince was slain. 

Till now suspense uncertain sway'd 
Each soldier's breast with anxious care, 

But, when no more on high display'd 

The hostile ensigns are survey 'd, 
Loud shouts of triumph rend the air. 

Awhile for short refreshment pass'd, 

The English quit thVcrimson'd plain, 
And, marching by the trumpet's blast, 
The Northern borders leave with haste ? 
For their respective homes again. 

Sir Adam, with his valiant band, 

Up Tivot Dale their journey take ; 
But, ere they march'd, he gave command 
That none to halt should stop nor stand, 

Till safely landed at Crook Dake, 



94 SIR ADAM 

Weil pleas'd, they wander'd all the night, 

O'er bog and burn, full many a mile, 
But fair they view, by morning light, 
Not distant far, to glad their sight, 
The lofty tow'rs of fair Carlisle. 

Well pleas'd, the weary troop survey 

The well-known prospects scatter'd round ; 
And as they nimbly post away, 
Each bosom cheers, each face looks gay, 
As if new spirits they had found. 

And when they to the city came, 

Loud shouts of vict'ry they raise ; 
With louder shouts the crowd proclaim. 
The fall of Scotland — England's fame, 
And valiant brave Sir Adam's praise ! 

From hence a herald flies to bear 

The tidings, with what haste may be; 

And to direct his lady fair 

A splendid banquet to prepare, 
For him and his brave company. 

And now their march afresh begun, 

Forth thro' the western gate they take : 
With eager steps they onward run, 
And, long before the setting sun, " 

The gallant squadron reach Croolc Dake. 



OF CROOK DAKE, 95 

Here, sounds of music charm their ears, 

And shouts of welcome glad their hearts ; 
Fatigue is fled to join their fears, 
Each face the smile of pleasure wears, 
For each to each his joy imparts. 

Meanwhile the knight, with courteous care. 

Around on all indulgent smiles; 
Directs the servants to prepare 
The banquet, that his friends may share 

His bounty, as they shar'd his toils. 

And soon the spacious board is crown'd 

With choicest viands, dress'd with grace : 
Whilst music lends its cheering sound, 
And swift the copious bowl goes round, 
And noisy mirth pervades the place. 

The knight's fair lady on the throng, 

Pleas'd as her lord, indulgence smiles ; 
The minstrels raise the martial song, 
The vaulted roof the sounds prolong. 
And ev'ry heart forgets its toils. 

Fair Catharine was a lady bright, 
For beauty widely known to fame ; 

Her fortune might no baron slight, 

Sole heiress of a wealthy knight, 
Sir Guy De Valibus by name. 



90 SIR ADAM 

Her lord's return she saw, well pleas'd, 

Victorious, safe, from Flodden's fight ; 
His happiness, she thought, increas'd 
The zest of their convivial feast, 

Which joy t'improve seem'd her delight. 

Dame Catharine had a cousin fair, 

Young Maud, for beauty fam'd was she* 

Her father's darling, and his care, 

Who was a baron, rich as rare, 
For lord of Millham then was he. 

Full swift the mirthful moments flew, 

Loud laughter rung throughout the hall ; 

The bowl capacious they renew, 

With bumpers drencrfd, the clam'rous crew 
Forgot fatigue, respect, and all. 

In fact, the can was briskly toss'd, 

For goblet fast on goblet press'd ; 
Sir Adam he, the knightly host, 
Seem'd all reflection to have lost, 
And madly bruited with the rest ! 

Thus lost to sense, the beauteous dame, 

Fair Maud, all blooming, met his eyes ; 
His bosom caught a lawless flame, 
Which reason was not left to tame, 
Nor calmer prudence to advise. 



OF CROOK DAKE, W 

Long basely he occasiort watch'd, 

His foul desires to gratify; 
The maid went forth, the trice he snatch'd, 
And in his arms the fair one catch'd, 

And forc'd her, struggling, to comply ! 

Thus wrong d, debauch'd, without consent, 
The beauteous fair one, in her prime, 

Is forc'd, howe'er she may repent, 

The knight's exposure to prevent, 
To repetitions of her crime ! 

So, from a frequency of sin, 

Which Maud, perhaps, at first might mourn : 
Who, tho' reluctant to begin, 
Is now in guilt so far stepp'd in, 

The greater task is to return. 

Long their illicit commerce pass'd 

Without a bar their bliss tannoy, 
But shameful pregnancy at last 
Threatens their intercourse to blast, 

And shame at once their guilty joy. 

Poor Maud, now conscious of her state, 
With keen remorse and shame oppress'd, 

In secret mourns her hapless fate, 

Curses her crime, when now too late ; 
But conscience never lets her rest. 



9$ SIR ADAM 

Fast from her cheek the roses fade, 
Her charms to captivate now cease ; 

A sickly languor doth pervade 

Those eyes, which once such charms displayed 
In days of innocence and peace. 

Where now to hide her guilty shame, 
How should the fair deluded know; 
To none can she her griefs proclaim, 
No cause for all her sorrows blame, 
But he, the author of her woe* 

To him she makes her plaintive moan, 
To him she tells her hapless tale ; 

But foul reflections of his own 

His bosom occupy alone, 

And little boots her bitter bale, 

Indeed he tries to soothe her grief, 

And kindly solace would impart ; 
But say, what tongue can speak relief, 
When conscience, like a guilty thief, 
Incessant haunts th* affrighted heart ? 

In guilt commutual, so in woe ; 

From neither, neither hope can find ; 
As from one common channel flow ; 
Their crimes, one common grief they know, 

And each afflicts each other's mind. 



OF~CBOOK DAKEo 99 

Grown tir'd with ev'ry social sport, 

Poor Maud each busy circle shuns 
Oft to the forest would resort, 
Relief from solitude to court, 

Yet meets that woe from which she runs, 

ttchanc'd one ev'ning with the knight 

A walk the wailing damsel took ; 
The twinkling stars scarce lent their light, 
Loud blew the wind, cold was the night, 

As slow they wander'd near the brook. 

Hoarse croak'd the raven 'mongst the trees, 
The screech owl shriek'd with hideous scream ; 

When, lo ! Sir Adam stdpp'd, to seize 

The hapless fair one* and, with ease, 
He plung'd her headlong in the stream ! 

In vain she shriek'd — no aid was nigh— * 
Deep was the pool with recent rain^ 

And if poor Maud should haply try 

To swim, Sir Adam, standing by* 
Remorseless, dash'd her down again ! 

Home to his house Sir Adam flies, 

And mingles with the jocund train; 
But cheerfulness he vainly tries, 
His countenance his heart belies, 

And ev'ry effort proves in vain. 
o g 



£00 SIR ADAM 

" Where is my lovely cousin Maud ? 

(Dame Catharine said,) where doth she stay ? 
I ne'er could charge her yet with fraud, 
But now, methinks, I can't applaud 

At midnight stealing thus away." 

The midnight pass'd, the rosy dawn 

Return'd, but brought not Maudy fair ; 
They sought her all across the lawn, 
But found her not, till near withdrawn, 

They -sought the brook, and found her there i 

Fair Catharine moufri'd for Maud right sore. 

Sir Adam feign'd to do the same i 
Her corpse six spotless virgins bore 
To her cold grave, and all deplore 

The fate of this unhappy dame* 

But now her sadly-mjur'd shade 

Sir Adam haunts, both night and day> 

Stung with remorse, with fear dismay 'd, 

He shuns the city and the shade. 

But finds no peace, change where he may t 

Thus horror, unallay'd, doth dwell 
Within the guilty conscious breast ; 

Each mental comfort to dispel. 

And in the heart erects a hell, 
That never lets the villain rest 



OF CROOK DAKE. 101 

One ev'nirig, with his friends around, 

Sir Adam sat within his hall ; 
When, lo ! the bell, with solemn sound, 
Struck — one !— ■ The awful knell profound,: 

With horror quite surpris'd them all. 

Loud bursts of thunder rend the air ! 

Which seem'd to shake the fabric's base % 
Successive quick the light'nmgs glare 
Each bosom melts with dire despair, 

And heart-felt horror marks each face. 

And next a dreadful shriek was heard, 
Like one that doth for succour call ; 
The windows shook, the doors were stirrjcj* 
When, by the gl imm'ring lights appeared 
A spectre ! standing in the hall ! 

All dripping wet, with frightful mem, 

A skeleton appear'd the face \ 
And in those holes where eyes had been, 
Two filthy pebbles might be seen, 

And slime besmear 'd the vacant space 1 

The crowd with consternation look, 

Unknowing how to act or say ; 
But most the knight with horror shook, 
His heart sensation quite forsook, 

And, stunn'd with fear, he swoon'd away ! 



102 SIR ADAM 

When thus, with more than human sound, 
The phantom broke the awful pause : — 
11 Rise up, base man I can I confound, 
Or drive with fear a wretch to ground, 
That dares defy all human laws ? 

" Was't not enough, perfidious knight, 

My honour first to violate ! 
In hospitality's despite, 
Unguarded, 'mid the gloom of night, 

But murder, too, to perpetrate ! 

" What tho' no eye was by to look, 
No ear to hear, nor arm to stay, 
When you, by forced my honour took, 
Or when you pruiig'd me in the brook. 
Yet near is retribution's day. 

" That all my wrongs aveng'd shall be, 

Eternal justice has decreed ; 
This dagger here accept from me, 
And when I claim it next from thee. 

Prepare to follow me with speed !" 

So said — she toss'd.the blade to ground, 

When strait a hideous shriek was heard 
Without, terrific thunders sound, 
Within blue flames fly hissing round, 
And quick the spectre disappear'd! 



OF CROOK DAKE. J03 

Th' affrighted company withdraw, 

Confounded at the horrid scene ; 
So much their minds were fill'd with awe. 
They scarcely trusted what they saw, \ 

Nor recollected what had .been, 

Fell horror flird Sir Adam's breast, 
And conscience, with its fell dismay ; 

The pangs of hell his heart infest, 

Go where he will he cannot rest, 

The murder haunts him pight and day S 

Thus shall the base deceiver kno\V, 

Tho' guilt, unpunish'd for a time 
May pass, yet justice sure, but slow% 
Unerring aims th' impending blow, 

Nor pass'd by heav'n is such a crime., 

Nor long the knight unsummon'd stay 'd, 

His various crimes to answer for ; 
The ghost of Maud, much-injur'd maid s 
Return 'd, and claim'd the fatal blade 3 

She, as a token, left before, 

O'ercome with horror at the sight, 
With guilt and fear alike oppress'd ; 

Urg'd to despair, the cruel knight, 

Quite frantic, in his friends' despite, 
The dagger plung'd into his breast ! 



104 SIR ADAM OF CHOOK DAKE, 

So fell Sir Adam of Crook Dake ; 

So may all guilty villains fall ! 
But, if 'tis true what neighbours speak, 
Strange gambols doth the lady make, 

Ev'n to this day, at Crook Dake Hall. 

At midnight, by the moon's pale beam, 

Oft will she glide across the moor, 
Or wander near the fatal stream 5 
And with remember'd horror scream, 
^nd fright the lone benighted boor. 




105 



ARTHURS CAVE 
a JLegenoatg Cale, 



ARGUMENT. 



Such was the veneration and esteem in which King Arthur was held by his 
subjects, on account of his personal prowess and other extraordinary 
virtues, that, even after thebattle in which he was slain, fighting with 
his cousin Modred, his faithful and steady adherents, the Ancient Britons, 
could never be persuaded of his death ; for, as they had ever known him 
victorious in arms, they have been led to believe that he enjoyed immor- 
ality ; and seeing, after the conflict, he was no where to be found in his 
dative country, they concluded he had retired in disgust from a country 
which had been thus basely abandoned, and treacherously surrendered to 
the usurpation and oppressions of the insolent Saxons ; and that he was 
ihen travelling through fairy land in quest of adventures — such as fighting 
with formidable giants, encountering and destroying dragons, and ether 
monsters, and rescuing from the hands of cruel necromancers and others, 
many oppressed knights and damsels : nay, so long had the prevalency of 
ibis opinion continued, that in the reign of Henry the Second, a body hap- 
pening, by chance, to be dug up near Glastonbury Abbey, without any 
symptoms of putrefaction or decay, the Welch, the descendants of the 
Ancient Britons, tenacious of the dignity and reputation of that illustri* 
ous hero, vainly supposed it could be no other than the body of their 
justly-boasted Pen-Dragon ; and that he had been immured in that sepul- 
chre by the spells of some powerful and implacable inchanter. Unac- 
countable are the stories of this sort that are related of him ; and number- 
less are the volumes of romance, to which his imaginary adventures owe 
their foundation. Amongst the rest, the following is one ; a legend well- 
known in the county of Northumberland, and is there said to have hap- 
pened at a place called Shoe-and-Shield. The story might, perhaps, with 
as much propriety, be placed at Penzance, at Berwick-upon-Tweed, er 
at John-o-Groat's house, 



106 Arthur's cave. 



THE TALE. 

XjOUD o'er Cumbria's mountains howling 
Blew the whirlwind bleak and chill, 

And the silent snow fast falling, 
Heap'd its drifts on ev'ry hilL 

Dark the night was cold and dreary, 
Moon nor star could mortal ken, 

And the fleaky tempest whirling, 
Levell'd fast each hill and glen. 

Whilst the hoarse loud winds fierce raging. 
Thro' the darksome desert sound ; 

And the sturdy oaks outbattled, 
Bow their lofty heads to ground. 

In a night thus dark and dreadful 
Bertrand wander'd thro' the dale. 

In the boundless waste bewilder'd, 
Sinking 'neath the piercing gale, 

Eearful of each step, he ventur'd, 
For the buried gulph beneath ; 

Lost in darkness, and unshelter'd, 
All around seem'd certain death, 



ARTHURS CAVE. 10? 

Not a sound his ear attracted, 

Save the whirlwind's deaf'ning blast ; 

Not a ray of light illum'd him, 
Save the snow bewildering waste. 



te? 



Horror-struck, benumb 'd, and fainting 
Down the dale poor Bertrand drew ; 

When, least hop'd, a shelt'ring cavern 
Close at hand appear'd in view. 

Ne'er was kindly inn more welcome 
To the weary pilgrim's feet; 

Ne'er unto the sea-rock'd sailor 

Was the wish'd-for port more sweet 

In the storm-struck stranger yentur'd; 

Darkness compass'd him around ; 
And an universal silence, 

Save the tempest's bellowing sound, 

More within the cave retiring, 
From the dullness of the night ; 

Through the circling gloom he fancied 
He beheld a glimm'ring light. 

Tho' it feeble seem'd, and distant, 
Yet it cheer'd his sinking hopes ; 

And, with careful steps, the stranger 
Onward thro' the cavern gropes : 
p2 



108 Arthur's cave ? 

At each step that he advances, 

Nearer beams the.bright'ning blaze | 
And, ere long, a scene presents him 
That might wonder's self amaze., 

Here appear'd a hall most spacious, 
Gaily lamp'd and lighted round j 

Tables spread in ample order. 
And fresh rushes on the ground. 

In the midst a princely figure, 

Sleeping on a pallet lay, 
And a goodly greupe around him, 

Gallant knights and ladies gay. 

Yet the whole seem'd wrapp'd in slumber^ 
Nothing breath'd about the place ; 

Tho' the bloom of youth and beauty 
Sat confess'd in ev'ry face. 

Finely wrought, a burnish 'd helmet 
Lay beside the prince's head ; 

And upon the casque refulgent, 

Wreath'd, a dragon's form was spread. 

Heaps of shields and glitt'ring lances 
Stood reclin'd against the wall ; 

Coats of mail and other armour 
Lay confus'd about the hall. 



ARTHURS CAVE. 10<J 

Mute with awe, and lost in wonder, 
Bertrand stood and view'd the scene 5 

But a grate, well barr'd and bolted, 
Stood the whole and him between. 

On one hand a winding bugle, 

Hung suspended by a chain, 
This he seiz'd ; but fear arising, 

Quick he laid it down again. 

In its sheath a shining faulchion 3 

On the other hand was laid ; 
Bertrand, curious to behold it, 

Half unsheath'd the shining blade. 

As he drew the blade, the sleepers 

Raised their heads, and deeply mournM^ 

This he saw, but, struck with horror, 
To its sheath the blade return'd. 

As the sword into the scabbard 

Bertrand thrust with might and main^ 

So the groupe of hapless sleepers 
Laid them down and slept again ! 

But the distant rays of morning; 

Thro* the cave began to dawn ; 
Bertrand, famish'd, cold, and weary. 

Left the cell to seek the lawn. 



110 Arthur's cave. 

Yet, as thro' the dreary windings 
Slow he sought the mazy way, 

From within a voice came sounding, 
Thus, aloud, was heard to say : 

" Woe to thee, ill-fated Bertrand, 
Woe that ever thou wast born; 

That wouldst neither draw the faulchion^ 
Nor yet sound the fatal horn !" 

Heedless of th' uncommon menace, 
Homeward hied the weary boor ; 

Thro* the snow, now deeply drifted, 
O'er the mountain and the moor. 

Sometimes sinking, sometimes sliding, 
Long he fought the bitter gale ; 

Home at last he gains, quite jaded, 
Where he tells the wond'rous tale. 



Vers'd in legendary story, 

List'ning swains their verdict gave, 
That, from Bertrand's plain relation, 

This must be King Arthur's cave, 

Where, as common fame reported, 

By a vile magician's spell, 
That brave prince and court lay sleeping, 

In a solitary cell ! 



ARTHURS CAVE, 111 

Off with speed the rustics rambled, 

Bent to free this hapless train ; 
Thro' each glen, and round each mountain, 

Long they sought, but sought in vain. 

Nothing like the cave presented, 
Nothing like the place was seen ; 

Home they turn'd, all disappointed, 
Tir'd with ranging, vex'd with spleen. 

Oft among the moorlands dreary 

Bertrand sought the place alone ; 
But, in vain; for, to this moment, 

Arthur's cave remains unknown, 




THE L 

MESSENGER OF DEATH 



JtvISE from your couch, fair Lady Jane, 
And drive the slumbers from your ee', 
Rise from your couch, fair Lady Jane, 
For I have tidings brought for thee." 

But seldom slumbers Lady Jane, 
But seldom visits sleep her ee' ; 

er-wakeful render'd by her woe, 

Yet, say, what tidings bring'st thou me? 

Loud blust'ring howls the wint'ry gale, 
Hark ! how the neighb'ring torrents pour ! 

1 fear 'tis but some wanton wight, 
That mocks me at this midnight hour. 

■' Shake off thy slumbers, Lady Jane, 
Rise from thy couch and come away j 

Shake off thy slumbers, Lady Jane, 
For I'm in haste, and must not stay/ 1 



THE MESSENGER H 

" Say, stranger, what can be thy haste, 
Or what may this thine errand be? 

From whom, arid wherefore art thou sent ; 
Or say, what tidings bring'st thou me ? 

a Lord Walter, he my wedded Lord, 
Now wins on fair Hesperia's plains, 

Where proud Britannia's banners fly, 
Where death and devastation reigns ! 

u Three months are scarcely pass'd and gohe^ 
Tho' three long tedious months to me, 

Since brave Lord Walter left these arms^ 
And with his squadrons put to sea. 

" Tho' long and tedious seems the time* 
Yet well I ween too short by far, 

To think of news from him my Lord, 
Or tidings from the woeful w T ar." 

CJ Rise from thy couch, fair Lady Jane, 
Rise from thy couch, and follow me i 

Tis from Lord Walter's self I come, 
I am his messenger to thee." 

H Bleak o'er the heath the whirlwind blows. 
Fast falls the rain, as fast can be ; 

Yet, since thou bear'st my Lord's behest, 
I'll leave my couch, and come to thee, 
Q 



114 OF DEATH. 

" But, tell me, stranger, tell me where 
Lord Walter wins, and how he fares ; 

For tho' from him I fain would hear, 
My bosom labours with its cares. 

" Would it become Lord Walter's wife, 
Would it become his Lady Jane, 

At midnight hour to leave her couch, 
And with a stranger walk the plain ?" 

* ; Rise from thy couch, thou Lady Jane, 
Arise, and make no more delay ; ■ 

The night's far spent, and I'm in haste, 
And here I must no longer stay. 

" Near where the foaming Derwent rolls, 
Its currents westward to the sea, 

There on the beach, by Solway's side, 
Lord Walter anxious waits for thee.'" 

Swift to her well-known master's call, 
Up from the brake the falcon springs, 

And to the whistling summons hies, 
In eager speed, on outstretch'd wings. 

So from her couch sprang Lady Jane; 

In sooth, she was not slack nor slow, 
Nor fear'd she once the drenching rain, 

Nor car'd she how the winds might blow. 



OF DEATH. 115 

And she's put on her kertle green, 
Her scarf and mantle made of blue ; 

And donn'd her up wi mickle haste, 
Her midnight journey to pursue. 

And she's unbarr'd the outer door, 

And ventur'd 'midst the wind and rain , 

And with the urgent stranger sped, 
All storm-struck o'er the dreary plain. 

O'er hill and dale, thro' bog and burn, 
And many a glen they swiftly hied ; 

Nor spoke they once, nor stopp'd, nor stay'd ? 
Until they reach'd the Solway side, * 

The night was dark, the boisfrous main 
Impetuous dash'cl against the shore ; 

And oft the water sprite was heard 
To shriek with loud terrific roar ! 

" Where is my love ? (said Lady Jane,) 
O bring Lord Walter quick tome ; 

I see the sea, I see the shore, 
But no Lord Walter can I see." 

" O Lady Jane, (the stranger cried,) 

Fair Lady, ever kind and true ; 
Why shrink you thus with foolish fear? 

Lord Walter's spirit speaks to you.-' 



116 THE MESSENGER 

" In Biscay's well-known stormy bay, 
Our vessel sank, no more to rise; 

There, buried in a wat'ry grave, 

All cold, thy long-lov'd husband lies, 

" Constant and kind to me in life, 
Thou held'st dominion o'er my heart ; 

Our love was mutual ; then, shall death, 
Our love, so well establish'd, part?" 

Cold horror seiz'd fair Lady Jane, 
Her frame with deadly terror shook ; 

An icy coldness chill'd her blood, 
And motion ev'ry pulse forsook. 

With silent and insensate stare, 

She view'd the spectre o'er and o'er, 

But such an awful hideous sight 
Her eyes had never seen before. 

All deadly meagre gl oom'd his face, 
Of flesh by hideous monsters stripp'd ; 

Sea-bubbles filFd his vacant eyes, 
And from his clothes the waters dripp'd. 

His temples, once so comely fair, 

Were now with sea-weed compass'd round ; 
And filthy coils of tangle foul 

The parts of his fair body bound, 



THE MESSENGER OF DEATH. 

When thus, with hollow voice, once more, 
The phantom said—" Howe'er it be, 

You must to-night, fair Lady Jane, 
Expect to sleep in death with me !" 

She shriek'd, and lifeless on the shore 
She fell; when swift a swelling wave 

Roll'd o'er her, and, with its recoil, 
Entombed her in a wat'ry grave ! 

No more was heard of Lady Jane -, 
Lord Walter he was seen no more, 

Save that the neighbours sometimes see 
Their spirits wander by the shore ; 

And oft amidst the whirlwind's blast 
Is heard full many a hideous scream, 

And two strange figures often glide 
Along the side of Derwent stream ! 



117 




113 



THE 



WHITE WOMAN 



THE MANNER FROM LEWIS, THOUGH THE TALE IS A FACT. 



JOHANNA had reach 'd the meridian of life, 

Was as fair as the blossom in June ; 
Young Fred'rick had recently made her his wife, 
Unenvied they liv'd without care, without strife, 
And their happiness seem'd in its noon. 

Content at her wheel she would cheerfully sing 

Thro' the length of the long summer day ; 
Whilst he thro' the autumn,the summer, the spring, 
Industriously toil'd their small pittance to bring, 
For they both were as frugal as gay. 

One day at the door of the alehouse they sat, 

The villagers seated around ; 
Twas holiday time, and their neighbourly chat 
Gave zest to their liquor, tho' neither was flat, 

As each care in a bumper was drown'd. 






THE WHITE WOMAN. 119 

Around within view the whole village it lay, 

Which gave fair Johanna her birth; 
Close at hand the old church you might easly survey 
The tall spreading ash and the steeple so grey, 

Tho' these objects took not from their mirth. 

For innocence seldom can know that dismay 

That guilt's so oft doom'd to sustain ; 
The heart of each rustic on that happy day, 
Beat high with contentment, each visage was gay, 

And joy seem'd to spread thro' the train. 

When sudden, Johanna, with wild frantic roar, 
Cried — " Save me ! or else I am gone ! 

The white woman's coming from yon church- 
yard door; 

The cruel white woman ! I've seen her before ; 
See ! this way she stalks, all alone." 

u What woman ! (cried Fred 'rick, with ghastly 
surprise,) 

What woman ? there's none that I see !" 
" Yes, yes ; the white woman ! (Johanna replies,) 
Behold her lank form, and her two flaming; eves I 

I know that she's coming for me ! 

" I saw the grave open ! I saw her come out ! 

Her shroud is as white as the snow ; 
Corruption besmears her foul temples about, 
Whilst volumes of worms from her mouth she casts out, 

She comes for Johanna I know* 



120 THE WHITE WOMAN, 

And see! thro' the church-yard in shrouded array 

The spectres and goblins they roam ; 
They seem with dire menace to chide her delay, 
And shriek to the white woman, Come, come away, 
Johanna must come to the tomb ! 

" Like furies but see how they tear up the mould, 

They howl, but how dismally drear! 
Like footballs the skulls of my kindred are roll'd 
O'er the graves ! — There the ghost of my mother 
behold ! 
O save me ! the white woman's here ! 

;i I've seen her before ; I remember her well !■ 

See ! faster and nearer she draws; 
O Fred' rick ! her dreadful approaches repel ; 
Bear me off — force her back — drive the beldam to 
hell! 

Ere I'm touch'd with her skeleton paws. 

<( O save me ! O save me ! dear Fred'rick, her blast 

Is as cold as is winter's "cold breath ! 
She crawls up my clothes — oh ! have mercy at last 
The cruel white woman embraces me fast ! 
And she says that her errand is death. 

" Help ! help ! my dear Fred rick ! O where are 
your hands ? 

Those hands, poor Johanna should save ; 
The fiend has o'erpow'rd him, he motionless stands. 
Altho' his sad wife the white woman demands, 

And pulls me away to the grave, 



THE WHITE WOMAN. 121 

H No 1 cruel white woman, I'll not come at all, 

My FrecTrick shall bind up my head; 
Yet, hark ! the fell furies incessantly call, 
Come, come to yon church-yard, you must, and 
you shall, 
For there we've prepar'd your last bed I" 

Delirious and raving, Johanna was borne 
To her home, and each cordial applied ; 
The fate of the poor hapless fair one they mourn,, 
Whilst Fred'rick, all pensive, in anguish forlorn, 
The live-long night watch'd by her side. 



All night in wild phrenzy, in horror and pain, 
She starts with convulsive affright! 

She shrieks — c< The white woman !" with might 
and with main, 

" The cruel white woman 1" again and again, 
For the phantom still dwells on her sight. 



Next day, more compos'd, with the nightingale's 

lav, 

She sung, by her phrenzy inspired, 

From morning till ev'ning she carrol'd away, 

" Begone ! thou white woman ! get from me, 
I say I" 

Nor once with her song ever tir'd, 



\9A 



THE WHITE WOMAN 



The third morning came, but she made no reply 

To a word that was ask'd or was said ; 
But, still she kept chaunting — " White woman* 

out ! fie ! 
Get hence, foul white woman ! I'll come by 
and by !"— 
By eve-tide Johanna was dead ! 




THE 

WATER. SPIRIT, 



BEATRIX, lovely maiden fair, 

Sat by the river side ; 
Loose and dishevell'd wav'd her hair 5 
Her bosom to the blast was bare. 

And bitterly she sigh'd. 

The scalding torrents from her eyes 

Had blanch'd her sallow cheek ; 
Her voice was hoarse with piteous cries, 
Her heart was sore with bursting sighs, 
And woes she could not speak. 

Her eyes were blear'd, and languid shone, 

Which once were lovely bright ; 
The rose-bud from her face was flown, 
And blasted ere 'twas fully blown, 
By sorrow's bitter blight 

Unshelter'd from the chilly blast, 

She sat the live-long day ; 
And as the whirling eddy pass'd,, 
On it a wistful look she cast, 

But not a word would say. 



124 THE WATER-SPIRIT, 

Around her all the warbling throng. 

Their blythest carrols tried ; 
Unseen by her they skim along, 
Unheard by her they chaunt their song, 
She only sat and sigh'd. 

The winds with melancholy howl, 
Deep murmur thro* the wood ; 

The stream grows turbid, black, and foul, 

The waters like a torrent roll, 
And rage into a flood. 

Beatrix nVd an earnest look 

Upon the waters near ; 
When, lo ! emerging from the brook, 
A form she saw, which she mistook 

For one she lov'd most dear. 

" Art thou my Lionel ? (she cried,) 

Ah ! whither hast thou been ? 
Long has Beatrix sat and sigrTd, 
In bitter anguish hath she cried, 
On this unshelter'd green. 

" Ah, no, alas ! it cannot be, 

My eyes have been mista'en ; 
Twelve months are pass'd since hapless he 
Adventur'd on the stormy sea, 

Bu tne'er return'd again* 



THE WATER-SPIRIT. l£5 

" The bark, near Scandinavia's shore, 

Is founder'd in the deep ; 
He sunk, with nine brave comrades more, 
They sleep in death, their voy'ge is @fer, 

And I am left to weep." 

iC Why dost thou sit and weep, fair maid? 

Why dost thou sit and mourn? 
Why thus thy golden tresses braid, 
When he, thy lover, is low laid 

And never can return ? 

" Beatrix, Lionel thy love 

Now chides thy long delay ; 
He says, thy lingering here doth prove 
A want of kindness and of love, 

Whatever thou may 'st say." 

" What wouldst thou, spirit of the deep, 
What wouldst thou have me say? 

For him I sigh, for him I weep, 

For him I sleepless vigils keep, 
As well by night as day. 

" For him I keep my virgin vow, 

For him I pensive pine ; 
Here sit and view the river flow, 
Here sit and weep — here vent my woe, 

But solace is not mine/' 



l L 2G THE WATER-SPItRIT. 

" Ah ! maiden fair, 'tis bootless care, 

To Bit and waste thy charms ; 
Those charms thy Lionel should share, 
Avail not him— sweet maid, prepare 
To waft thee to his arms," 

u Where are those arms, that I may fly 

And rush jn their embrace ? 
For here a double death I die, 
My eyes have wept till they are dry, 
And withered i§ my face. 

"But slowly beats my flutt'ring heart, 

But slowly runs my blood ; 
My brain runs whirling, and each part, 
Beats with excruciating smart, 

Which cannot be withstood. 

" But (quickly whispering) spirit, say, 
What makes thee bend so near? 

From whence, and whither is thy way ? 

To whom — why dost thou lingering stay, 
And what thy business here r" 

" I am the monarch of the main, 
Of fountains, and of streams ; 
Extensive is my mighty reign, 
My boundless empire doth contain 
Earth's uttermost extremes. 



THE WATER-SPIRIT. 127 

" From Jutland's ivy coast am I, 

Fair maid, to wait on thee ; 
There doth thy long-lost lover lie, 
Therefore prepare thee, by and by, 

To-night to lie with me." 

" Foul spirit, I'll not be thy bride, 

I do not like thy mein ; 
Thy aspect is soblanch'd, beside 
Thy azure eyes that glare so wide; 

And then thy locks are green ! 

" My Lionel was lovely fair, 

Was comely to behold, 
The fairest rose that scents the air 
Sat on his cheeks, his flowing hair 

Was like the threads of gold. 

'* But, spirit, thou hast such a hue, ' 

With running in the tide, 
Thy skin so scaly is, and blue, 
Thy body is mis-shapen too, 

I will not be thy bride." 

i ' Thou shalt not be my bride, fair maid, 

That wish'd I not to be ; 
But he, thy lover, thus hath saidj 
(In ocean's pearly couch now laid,) 

f< Go, bring my love to me." 



128 THE WATER-SPIRIT. 

" O gentle spirit of the deep, 

In verity declare, 
Dost thou the peaceful chambers keep 
Where my lov'd Lionel doth sleep, 

Or can'stthou help me there ?" 

" Fair maiden, thou shalt go with me, 

I'll bear thee to his bed ; 
The tritons they shall play for thee, 
With sparkling crowns of coral, we 

Will decorate thy head." 

" O peaceful spirit, let me fly, 

I long to reach the place ; 
There shall my Lionel and I 
In undisturb'd embraces lie, 
Shall endlessly embrace/' 

She lean'd upon the spirit's hand, 
Her limbs were stiff and cold ; 
And she has totter'd to the strand, 
But, at the river, made a stand ; 
The enterprize was bold. 

But he has urg'd the fair one on, 

And cries — " Come, come away, 
Beatrix, we must hence begone, 
For time and tide will wait for none— 
And, hark i he chides thy stay." 



THE WATEJR SPIRIT. 12§ 

But, hear her scream — " Ah ! me, I sink ! 

The water stops my breath ; 
My heart will burst !— my spirits shrink ! 
The draught of destiny, I drink," 

She said — and sank in death* 




ISO 



JOHNNY BROWN 



AND 



GRANNY BELL 



V/LD Johnny Brown liv'd up yon hill, 
Old Granny Bell liv'd on the moor ; 

Now, Johnny Brown was very rich, 
But Granny Bell was very poor : 

His coffers groan'd with hoarded wealth, 
His spacious barns were fill'd with corn ; 

ITnnumber'd flocks were in his fold, 
But greedier wretch was never born. 

Poor Granny Bell was turn'd fourscore; 

Bent down with age and poverty ; 
Decrepid grown, and weak with want, 

The poorest of the poor was she. 

Hence from their various fates ensued^ 
Of being poor, and being rich. 

That Johnny Brown was reckon'd wisc> 
And Granny Bell was call'd a witck 



AND GRANNY BELL. 131 

In bleak December, when the snows, 
Deep drifted o'er the moors, were spread. 

She hobbled up to Johnny's house, 
To beg a morsel of his bread. 

" Do, do, good neighbours, do, (she cried,) 
My wants with pitying eyes behold ; 

A morsel spare me, or I die, 

O'ercome with hunger and with cold. 

" For once, some kindly comfort gire, 
The wint'ry blasts, hark ! how they roar ! 

Short is my journey to the grave ! 
Perhaps I'll trouble you no more." 

ic Aroint thee, witch ! (quoth Johnny Brown,) 
Now, by the mass ! that must not be ; 

For had I ten times what I have, 
I would not give a mite to thee." 

Stung with this sharpness of reply, 
In mutt'ring tone the caitiff swore ; 

And pray'd his substance, kyth and kin, 
That heav'n would never prosper more. 

He heard her execrations dire, 

They nll'd his inmost soul with dread ; 

Next morning brought the doleful news, 
The best milk cow he had was dead ! 
s 2 



232 JOHNNY BROWN 

Ere noon, his son, to market sent, 

He heard by rogues had been beguiPd j 

His wife, ere ev'ning, told him too, 
Their eldest daughter was with child. 

" Now, by my sooth, (says Johnny Brown,} 
The beldam bears me mickle spite ; 

But ere such mischief I'll endure, 
I'll shoot the witch this very night." 

The night was hush'd, the moon shone clear* 
The air was keen as keen could be, 

When Johnny Brown his firelock took, 
And out with deadly wrath went he. 

In ev'ry corner that he pass'd, 
Around the hayrick and the well, 

He look'd with curious eye, in hope& 
To find poor hapless Granny Bell. 

At length, between him and the light, 
He thought he saw the wish'd-for game ; 

" Yes, yes ! she's there I" (quoth Johnny Brown,) 
So straightway took his vengeful aim ! 

Off went the piece, unerring true, 
The bullet whistled thro' the air ; 

With speed he ran to seize the prize, 
But, lo ! he'd shot his best grey mare£ 



AN© GRANNY BELL. 133 

Thus foil'd for once, went Johnny Brown, 
Home to his house with burning gall ; 

But swore if morning light were come, 
To burn the witch, her house, and alL 

The foul design so fill'd his mind, 
That, e'en tho' fast asleep, he rose, 

And snatch 'd a firebrand from the hearth > 
And to his fatal purpose goes. 

His wife she miss'cl him from her side, 
She rose with haste the cause to learn i 

There spied she luckless Johnny Brown 
About to fire his well-stock'd barni 

She shriek'd right loud, as well she might, 
The husband 'woke with this alarm ; 

But, in the moment of surprise, 

Poor Johnny fell, and broke his arm I 

What mischiefs happen'd Johnny Brown^ 

In consequence of Granny Bell ; 
From first to last, to him and his, 

I'm sure are more than I can tell, 

" Now, foul befal the hellish hag, 

(Quoth Johnny Brown,) she doth me twitch. 
But, if there's justice in the land, 

I will exterminate the witch." 



l'34i JOHNNY BROWN AND GRANNY BELL, 

So said— next morning with the light 
Vindictive Johnny Brown arose ; 

And with his neighbours and his friends,, 
To seek the hapless beldam goes. 

But disappointed was their rage, 
No witch to torture they behold I 

For, on a lowly straw-made couch, 
Lay Granny Bell, both stiff and cold ! 




135 



THE HARPER 



A HERE came a harper o'er the lee, 
Just as the hour was getting late ; 

And he has tun'd his harp with glee, 
And play'd at our Lord Baron's gate. 

And he has struck each trembling string, 
That sweetly echo'd thro' the hall ; 

And he has made the mansion ring, 
And pleas'd the lords and ladies all ; 

In sooth, he was a harper rare, 

As ever touched the quiv'ring wire ; 

Harmonious sweetness grac'd the air, 
The song bespoke poetic fire. 

" Come to my hall, (Lord Valens said,) 
Come to my hall and welcome be ; 

Of all the lyrists that have play'd, 
None ever surely equall'd thee ! 

*' I've heard the Cumbrian minstrel play, 
I've heard the Caledonian chore > 

But such a sweet melodious lay 
I swear I never heard before. 



136 THE HARPER, 

Into the hall the harper wends, 
Amidst the fair and gallant train ; 

Where as he plays, his music mends, 
And all are ravish'd with his strain. 

u Now tell me, minstrel, if you will, 

(Lord Valens said,) where have you been, 

To gain so competent a skill, 

And what strange regions have you seen ? 

u For your address informs me well 
That you have been in foreign parts $ 

And tho' in music you excel, 

Yet have you studied other arts." 

" Your courtesy, my Lord, is such, 
That all my frankness it demands ; 

Good certes, I have travell'd much, 
And been in many foreign lands. 

" There's not a nation, great or small^ 
In which I have not something seen j 

Nor yet a court amongst them all, 
In which I have not some time been. 

" Before the greatest kings on earth, 
With loud applauses have I play'd ,* 

For mightiest monarchs have made mirth, 
And been by them profusely paid. 



THE HARPER," 13f 

a The Soldan of Damascus, he 

On me this scimitar bestow'd, 
Which I to you present as free, 

For all this kindness you have show'd. 

" Its qualities, my Lord, are rare, 

That like it in the world is none ; 
Whilst this you keep, and keep with care, 

You never shall be overthrown, 

" Besides, with it ybti may with ease 
Most strange appearances produce, 

Or to advantage, or to please ; — - 
Experience best will shew its use, 

ct And this, fair lady, is for you, 
A mantle call'd — The Lease of Love $ 

With this, past pleasure shall renew, 
And age your beauty shall improve/ 5 

Lord Valens had a daughter fair, 

And Adeliza was her name ; 
Of beauty she had such a share, 

That far and near was spread her fame. 

Angelic sweetness fmsh'd her face, 
Her eyes were sparkling, yet serene 5 

And those, who mark'd her easy grace, 
Were wont to style her Beauty's queen, 
T 



13S THE HARPEK. 

To her a sparkling ring he gave, 

Saying — " This, fair maid, is mete for thee, 
Possessing this you still shall have 

Increase of love and constancy." 

" Now, by my troth, (Lord Valens cried,) 

Thy liberality is such, 
That, setting courtesy aside, 

I would avow it were too much." 

Now Lady Anastatia rose, 

And round her hath the mantle thrown r 
Her face its virtues plainly shews 

In graces not before its own* 

Lord Valens he has ta'en likewise 

The sword, and struck it on the ground, 

When, lo ! a tree is seen to rise 
With blooming grapes enclust'ring round. 

But Adeliza, lovely maid, 

Has on her ringer put the ring, 
And, doubtful, to herself hath said — 

" Let's see what wonder this will bring ! ,s 

But when the ring her finger press'd, 
She felt herself quite chang'd, I trow ; 

New passions seem'd to warm her breast, 
She saw, she felt, she scarce knew how. 



THE HARPER. }$g 

For he, the harper, who appears 

To all, save Adeliza fair, 
Sore worn with labour and with years, 

And harrow'd by the hand of care,— 

To her appears in beauty's bloom, 

With youthful mein and comely face ; 

Nor one besides in all the room 

Might match with him in manly grace. 

A flame had caught the fair one's breast, 

A flame she never felt before ; 
Nor for a moment could she rest, 

But as she gaz'd, she lov'd the more,, 

And to herself she silent said — 

" How comely is the harper ! he 
Of all the world I'd wish to wed— 

The harper is the man for me." 

The harper strikes again the strings, 
His strains the passions well express'd ; 

Again the vaulted mansion rings. 
And pleasure thrills in ev'ry breast. 



But most transported with the song 

Was lovely Adeliza ; she 
This chorus caroll'd all along, 

" The harper is the man for me!" 



140 THE HARPER. 

At length arriv'd the midnight hour^ 
Well pleas *d the company withdrew ; 

Nor one in chamber or in bow'x 

But slept that night right sound, I trow ; 

Save Adeliza, lovely fair, 

The harper he so fill'd her head ; 

Of sleep she had but little share, 
And silently she's left her bed. 

And she's put on her kirtle green, 

Unmindful what the folks might say ; 

And thro* the dark has ventur'd clean, 
To where the wakeful harper lay. 

? Come to my bed, sweet lady fair, 
(The merry minstrel whisp'ring cried,) 

Come to my bed, sweet lady fair, 
For thou shalt be my bonny bride," 

u Ah ! what is this that makes me start, 

Or what is it that urges me? 
Thou hast bewitch'd my virgin hearty 

And I must come to bed to thee," 

The harper took her to his arms, 
Right amorously they pass'd the night, 

|n full possession of her charms, 
Till fairly shone the morning light 



THE HARPER. }4} 

JLord Valens rose by dawn of day, 

And to his page aloud did call, 
fC Go, bring the harper here straightway, 

And let him join me in the hall. 

" For I've a curious vision seen, 

The which perhaps he may unfold-^ 

I dreamt my daughter was a queen, 
And habited in robes of gold. 1 ' 

The page at his Lord's bidding ran 
With all the speed that well might be ; 

But when he to the chamber wan, 
Nor harp nor harper there met he. 

They searched the castle round and round, 
They march'd the chambers thro' and thro' $ 

But harper no where could be found, 
Tho' none of his departure knew. 

They call'd the porter from the gate — - 
When thus on oath did he declare : 

" I've watch'd it soon, I've watch" d it late, 
But man or mortal pass'd not there." 

Then said Lord Valens hastily, 

" Now to my daughter's chamber go. 

Enquire at her if haply she 

May something of the harper know.?" 



142 THE HARPER. 

Then to her chamber quick went they, 
And back as quickly to the hall. 

And to Lord Valens told straightway, 
His daughter she was gone and all. 

" Now, by the rood, (Lord Valens- cried,) 
Foul doings have been practis'd here ; 

She's some vile necromancer's bride, 
Or else some elfin wight's I fear, 

(C But, by the holy virgin dame ! 

If I this harper meet with soon, 
I'll teach the varlet other game, 

And, for a season, change his tune." 

And he has ta'en the goodliest steed 
That there was standing in the stall, 

And he's adventured forth with speed, 
In comely armour clad withal. 

Fast o'er the mountains did he hie, 
As fast o'er haught and valley scour ; 

But house nor hah did he espy, 
Till ev'ning shades began to lour 

When, at a distance, he surveyed 
A lonely mansion o'er the lee, 

iC Whate'er be here, (Lord Valens said.). 
To-night here must my lodging be," 



THE HARPER. 143 

He spurr'd his courser o'er the moor, 
And soon he reach'd the castle-gate ; 

But long he thunder'd at the door, 
Ere page or porter came to wait. 

At length a surly servant came, 

From whose foul looks and frowning face, 
Lord Valens might a presage form 

Both of the master and the place. 

" What brings thee here, (he sternly cried,) 
Uncourteous knight, to knock so late ? 

My Lord is arming him aside, 

And means to give thee battle straight/ 

'< I did not come, (Lord Valens said,) 
With ill intent, much less to fight, 

But only hop'd I might have made 
A lodging here, for one short night.? 

*' Tis like enough, (the oaf replied,) 
That your request you may obtain. 

And lodge here till you're satisfied. 
Before I let you out again ; 

" For know the terms that we afford 
To all that venture here like thee — ■ 

Is, to do combat with my Lord, 

Or yield them ? and his prisoners be !" 



144 THE HARPER, 

" Now, devil take thy Lord, say I, 
And thee and all, thou saucy knave 1 

If with your boasts your valour vie, 
You, doubtless, both are very brave". 

" Go, tell him not to make delay, 
But hasten, as I wait the fight ; 

For in his hall I mean to stay, 

With or without his leave, to-night." 

" Now, by my sooth, (the porter said,) 
This menace suits thy station ill ; 

Thou may'st, proud knight, perhaps be made 
To stay all night against thy will. 

" But if it chance to be thy lot 
Here, maugre thy consent, to be, 

In solitude thou pines t not, 
For here is store of company * 

" Full many a Lord of high renown, 
And many a foolish- boasting knight. 

Have very humbly here sat down, 
As likely thou may'st do to-night.' 7 

" Now, God confound thee ! chattering elf. 
Thy words at least bespeak thy will ; 

Thy master comes not forth himself: 
Take thou this earnest of my skill 



THE HARPER. 145 

" At least, 'twill let thy master know 

His menace is to me no dread." 
So saying, with a furious blow, 

He from his shoulders smote his head ! 

At length the castle-knight appear'd, 

In armour harness'd cap-a-pee ; 
His pond'rous lance he held uprear'd, 

And gaily mounted, too, was he. 

With threats and execrations loud, 

The traitor marshalFd his advance ; 
And from afar, in gestures proud, 

He boastful shook his threat'ning lance- 
But when the porter he beheld 

All lifeless in the postern lie, 
Increasing rage his bosom fill'd, 

And death and vengeance was his cry. 

" Full dearly shalt thou, stranger knight, - 

This cruel outrage soon repay ; 
And, tho' thou dost contemn my might, 

Shalt rue thou ever came this way." 

He took his seat, and couch'd his lance, 
And ran his furious headlong course; 

Lord Valens saw his mad advance, 
And ; turning, mock'd his idle force, 
u 



146 THE HARPER.. 

But as enrag'd he past him sped, 
This nimbly stooping to the place, 

Snatch'd from the ground the porter's head, 
And dash'd it in the braggart's face ! 

Provok'd, beyond all common bounds, 
Fierce to the combat he returns ; 

The welkin with his voice resounds. 
His face with indignation burns, 

Pierce was the shock, for such a pair 
To neither would the other yield ; 

Their shining lances glanc'd in air, 
^nd rudely shield encounter'd shield 

Lord Valens drew the blade so bright, 
The very blade the harper gave, 

To try its metal on the knight, 

And, sooth, it prov'd a gallant glaive. 

For at one well-directed blow, 

It cleft his glitt'ring casque in twain* 

And passing onward deep below, 
It trenches wide the traitor's brain 1 

Prone from his horse he lifeless fell — 
c< So fare all knaves ! (Lord Valens cried,) 

This outside promises right well, 
Let's see what's here to do beside. 



THE HARPER, 1 4^ 

Then to the castle he proceeds, 

With all the haste that he could hie ; 

No let his further course impedes, 
The menials in confusion fly. 

Fast thro* the hall the Baron went, 
To search the vaulted dungeons round ; 

And there in chains and darkness pent, 
Full fifty captive knights he found. 

" Now shall you all right merry be 
With me this night, (Lord Valens said ;) 

I am your host ; base Kenrick, he 
Your former one, by me lies dead," 

Then were the knights well pleas'4 to hear 
These tidings, as in sooth they might, 

For in the lonely dungeon drear 
They had but been in rueful plight. 

And they're assembled in the hall, 

Where plenteous dainties they have foujnd ; 

And ev'ry thought of former thrall 
Is in the cheering goblet drown'd. 

But soon as daylight streak'd the east, 

The baron he, without repose, 
Departed, leaving all the rest, 

Each one to take the road he chose. 

v Z 



148 THE HARPER. 

And as on yesterday, with haste 
O'er fen and forest fast rode he, 

To-day thro* wilderness and waste 
He swifter speeds, if such may be. 

The sun had reach'd its noon-tide stage, 
Ere man or mansion had he spied ; 

For such was then his onward rage, 
He scarcely ever look'd aside. 

But, as he for a moment stood 
To rest his jaded steed withal, 

Within the curtain of a wood, 
He there beheld a princely hall. 

Too tir'd for ceremony, he 

Resolv'd to wait not mickle grace 3 
But, spurring forward o'er the lee, 

He in a trice was at the place, 

And, as he drew towards the dome, 
The sound of mirth assail'd his ears ; 

Which from the mansion seem'd to come — 
Quoth he — " This prelude rather cheers. 

" Well am I sure that where there's mirth, 
There cannot much ill nature be ; 

Spleen gives to unpoliteness birth, 
And cheerfulness to courtesy,, 



THE HARPER, 149 

And he has reach'd the castle-gate, 

And loudly at the ring rang he ; 
But readier here were they to wait, 

For servants there came two or three. 

** Now welcome art thou to our hall, 

Most courteous stranger knight, (said they;) 

Most welcome, (answer'd one and all,) 
And long and pleasant be your stay. 

" Right glad will be my Lord, I trow, 
To entertain you with good cheer ; 

And glad my Lady be also, 

When she shall know that you are here."' 

" And fair and merry may you be, 
(Lord Valens said,) and fair betide, 

For this your welcome frank and free, 
Your courteous master and his bride." 

Now they have ta'en the Baron's steed, 

And led it to a goodly stall ; 
And they've Lord Valens led with speed, 

Politely to the mirthful hall. 

But as he enter'd, more and more 

His wonder was awoke I ween, 
For he in all his life before 

So fair a party ne'er had seen, 



150 THE HARPER, 

The tables groan'd with piles of food, 
Whereon might kings and princes dine, 

And flowing full the vases stood, 
With rarest and with costliest win$! 

The company who sat around, 

Were each in princely vestments dress 'd : 
And from each chamber music's sound 

Gave to the banquet double zest. 

" Here, take your place, $ir stranger knight. 

And share right freely in our cheer ; 
Lord Proteus should have been by right. 

But he will presently be here. 

u But 'tis not needful we delay 
Until my Lord's return , at least. 

We are his commoners each day, 

And can without him share the feast." 

So said — the company fell on, 

Without long waiting for the grace ; 

The hungry Baron, too, anon, 

Seem'd with the foremost to keep pace. 

And now the banquet being o'er, 

The cheering minstrels strike the strings. 

The hall resounds with laughter's roar, 
And music thro* the mansion rings. 



THE tlARPEIt. 151 

Bat how, amid the tuneful choir, 

Was he surprised, the Baron bold, 
With those that struck the trembling lyre. 

His quondam harper to behold ! 

All seated on a gorgeous throne, 

In royal dignity he sate ; 
In splendour he might yield to none, 

That ever bore the badge of state. 

Fair Adeliza by his side 

Sat on another throne as fair ; 
Array'd in royalty's fair pride, 

And beauty, more than mortal's share, 

r< N" ow, by my troth, (Lord Valens said,) 

Base harper, whatsoe'er thou be, 
Thou hast foul incantations play'd, 

Both on my daughter and on me, 

■'- But now, foul traitor ! to thy woe f 
This rape ungen'rous shalt thou pay \ 

And curse the moment thou didst know 
My house, or stole my child away." 

Then, in a rage, Lord Valens rose, 
And furious rush'd across the floor \ 

Towards the orchestra he goes, 
But cursing, as he went, full sore. 



I 

152 fflE HARPER. 



Quick from its sheath his trusty blade 
With hasty hand in wrath drew he ; 

But from his grasp it was con vey'd, 
But how or where he could not see. 

And by his side a lady stood, 

All comely, affable, and gay ; 
Who press'd his hand, and begg'd he would 

Politely dance with her that day. 

" Indeed, fair dame, (the Baron said,) 

I am not in a dancing mood ; 
But when such beauty comes in aid, 

The suit can be but ill withstood." 

Then up his mirth-inspiring lyre 
In haste the merry minstrel drew; 

Its strains awoke the slumb'ring choir, 
And to the dance Lord Yalens flew. 

And gaily hopp'd he round the hall, 
And frisk'd and fidgets on the floor, 

To the amusement of them all, 

Who laugh'd till all their sides were sore. 

And still the lovely lady gay, 
In graceful air the measures led ; 

And still Lord Valens danc'd away, 
And blither still the harper play'd. 



THE HARPER. 153 

" For pity, harper, hold thy hand, 
Urg'd he, for I am out of breath ; 

Do let me for a moment stand, 
Or I shall dance myself to death/ 

Then down his harp the lyrist laid, 

A winsome wight I wot was he, 
And to the weary wanton Said, 

" This likes you more than chivalry,. 

u You see, Lord Valens, I have pow'r 
To treat you in what wise I will ; 

But be assured that from this hour 
I never more will use you ill, 

u Your daughter, Baron, is my bride, 
Right worthy of her rank, I ween ; 

And, understand, my Lord, beside, 
That she is now an elfin queen ! 

" There, take, Lord Valens, take the sword ? 

T may serve you on some future day ; 
This, haply, succour may afford, 

When I, perhaps, am far away, 

" But now and then depend that we 

Will pay a visit to your hall ; 
And now may all prosperity > 

Attend you, till our casual call" 
x 



154 THE HARPER. 

" Indeed, my son, (the Baron said,) 

If so it be, it must be so ; 
And sorely have I been afraid, 

To think what vou resolv'd to do. 

%j 

" And since my daughter is your wife, 
Take my consent now frank and free ; 

And, thro r the residue of life, 

In God's name may you happy be !" 

Scarce had that word the Baron spoke, 
When, in an instant, all was gone I 

The hall, the banquet, and the folk, 
Were vanish'd, and he left alone I 

But, what surpris'd him yet still more: 
Than all the rest, was now to see, 

Tho' he two days had rode full sore, 
Close by his own park-wall was he I 




155 
THE 

FRIGHTFUL BEAUTY 



tolR Barnaby he was as courteous a knight 

As ever liv'd north of the Trent; 
For still he was call ? d by the ladies so bright, 

Sir Courteous, wherever he went. 
King Henry the Eighth, into gay Cumberland, 

An excursion once made for his sport ; 
With Lords and with Ladies, a fair sightly band. 

The fairest perhaps in the court. 
Awhile at Sir Barnaby 's hall with delight 

The King with his courtiers made stay ; 
Where dancing and music beguil'd ev'ry night, 

And the joys of the chace ev'ry day. 
It chanc'd that one night to partake of the ball, 

A female incognita came ; 
But nobody there seem'd to know her at all, 

Or could guess at her rank or her name. 
The king danc'd the damsel around and around, 

And press'd his addresses full sore ; 
But when all his gallantries useless were found, 

He vow'd he would mind her no more. 
x 2 



15$ " THE FRIGHTFUL BEAUTY. 

Now there is, Sir Barnaby, (whisper'd the king,) 

" A subject to practise your skill ; 
Perhaps to some terms the unknown you may bring, 

At least you may try if you will/' 
Away to the fair one Sir Barnaby sped/' 

Expectant of better success ; 
Determin'd to use all the wits in his head. 

And practise his utmost address. 
With kindness his wannest advances she met, 

Her courtesy equall'd his own ; 
In gallantry fairly she kept him in debt, 

For his spirits seem'd utterly gone. 
H I'm thinking, fair Lady, (Sir Barnaby said, 

As they wanton'd in amorous play,) 
If haply I had such a lady in bed, 

She should not come a damsel away." 
" Indeed ! (said the Lady, with smiling reply,) 

You would make some poor virgin afraid ; 
But if, for a proof, she should venture to try, 

Would you just be as good as you said?" 
" Now, by the Lord Harry, (Sir Barnaby cried,) 

If I were not as good as I've said, 
I'd take the first woman I met for my bride, i 

So long as she has but a head." 
u Your offer is knightly, (the Lady replied,) 

But probation determines the whole ; 
Assertion has oft by the proof been belied, 
And the best have come short of the goal." 



THE FRIGHTFUL BEAUTT. 16$ 

The dancing continued, the goblet went round, 

Good humour pervaded the hall; 
Each bosom was cheer'd with sweet melody's sound, 

The king and his merry men all 
At length it grew late, and the parties withdrew 

Each one in their own proper way ; 
Sir Barnaby he all impatiently flew 

To attend on the Lady so gay. 
Towards her bedchamber so soft he did creep, 

And so softly to bed went the knight ; 
Buthe scarcely was in, till he fell fast asleep, 

A$d so loudly he snor'd all the night. 
Sir Barnaby soon in the morning awoke, 

And look'd — but his Lady was fled ! 
Hemutter'd and fretted, but ne'er a word spoke, 

And in anger he leap'd out of bed. 
Quite frantic he star'd and he stamptround the room, 

And he got in a terrible rage ; 
Like Stentor he call'd on young Gilbert his groom, 

And as loudly he call'd on his page : 
V O Gilbert, O Gilbert, why didst thou not wake, 

Why didst thou not call me, I say ? 
That I might have rose, for the fair Lady's sake, 

Ere she'd gone thus unguerdon'd away. 
" Full loudly, my Lord, twice or thrice did I call. 

To wake you, (re-answer'd the groom ;) 
But in vain did I hoot, and in vain did I bawl. 

When the Lady went out of the room/' 



158 THE FRIGHTFUL BEAUTY. 

" And thou, little page, why didst thou not awake ? 

Or didst thou keep dozing till day?" 
:s I call'd you, my Lord, and I gave you a shake, 

When the Lady was going away." 
The King came up-stairs, and said to the knight, 

" What has rais'd all this clamour, I pray?" 
" My liege, I have slept with t|ie Lady all night, 

And she ? s now gone a maiden away !" 
" Ungallant, ungallant ! (the monarch replied,) 

Default is as bad as a crime ; 
But since 'twill at present no better betide, 

You must play better cards the next time." 
" But, Sire, when my bargain you shall understand. 

You'll say that full hard is my case ; 
I foolishly slipp'd all the trumps from my hand, 

And my hazard is not worth an ace : 
For, Sir, when the bargain with her I first set, 

It was, if she rose up a maid, 
I'd wed the first female that ever I met, 

So be that she had but a head." 
" I cannot absolve thee, (King Harry then said,) 

The fault must thy own be conf ess'd ; 
And as thou hast let her away thus, a maid, 

Of a bad bargain e'en make the best." 
The King and his company went on the morn 

To hunt on the forest so green ; 
The hunters loud hallo, the hounds and the horn. 

Made a right merry chorus, I ween. 



THE FRIGHTFUL BEAUTY. 159 

The morning was charming, serene was the sky, 

The birds on the boughs sweetly sang ; 
The vallies, as if they pa/took of the joy, 

With answering choruses rang. 
Two hares from the covert at once took a start. 

But soon sought the shelter again ; 
When just at that instant a fair bounding hart 

Full swiftly flew over the plain. 
" A fair happy presage, (exclaim'd the gay King,) 

In such sports we but seldom excel ; 
If better from good thus progressively spring, 

You, Sir Barnaby, yet may do well." 
" Pray, whose is that chariot, (Sir Barnaby said, 

To a page as he posted along ;) 
And who is the person within it convey 'd, 

And to whom do these servants belong r" 
" Good sir, (said a page,) your enquiries forbear, 

It belongs to a right wealthy dame ; 
No more we're allow'd, worthy knight, to declare. 

Then seek not to find out her name." 
ei I must, and I will, (then Sir Barnaby cried,) 

Then tell me the whole that you know ; 
I've sworn by my knighthood she shall bemy bride, 

King Harry has witness'd my vow/' 
* In sooth,, (quoth the servant,) good tidings you 
speak, 

You spare us much sorrow and strife ; 
My lady was just setting forward to seek 

A fair knight that would make her his wife/' 



160 THE r RIGHTFUL BEAUTY. 

" Tis well, (said the King,) you are happily met 

Twere pity that soon you should part ; 
To me, good Sir Barnaby, you stand in debt, 

For raising you such a sweetheart" 
Then up rode the King to the side of the coach, 

The servants saluted him round; 
For each recollected him on his approach, 

And they bovv'd in obeisance profound. 
But when brave Sir Barnaby came to behold 

What sort of a bargain he'd got, 
His head it grew giddy, his blood it ran cold, 

And bitterly curs'd he his lot. 
Her person was comely and fair to behold, 

Her garments were costly and fine ; 
Her ornaments glisten'd with rubies and gold, 

But her head was the head of a swine ! 
"Now, woe to thy promise, (said Harry the 
Eighth,) 

Were I thee, I should want to be dead ; 
For if thou refuse her in marriage, thy fate 

Is next morning to lose thine own head I" 
" No, no, (said Sir Barnaby,) rather than life, 

And all my estates throw away, 
I'll wed her, and bed her, and make her my wife ; 

I can die, if I please, the next day." 
Then off went Sir Barnaby, courtiers, and all, 

Along with this Lady so fair ; 
Until that they reach'd a magnificent hall, 

With which there were few could compare. 



THE FRIGHTFUL BEAUTY. 161 

Of houses and lands she had got a great store, 

Her furniture was of the best; 
She had full forty servants to tend her, or more, 

And all were most sumptuously dress'd. 
Each day, in a trough made of fair burnish'd 
gold, 

The Lady on dainties was fed ; 
Each day in a chariot most stately she rolfd, 

Slept at night in a fine velvet bed ! 
The nuptials were solemniz'd on the next day, 

Rare justings and tourneys were there ; 
And numbers of Lords and of Ladies so gay, 

To attend at this wedding so rare. 
King Henry the head of the table he grac'd, 

The Lady was on his right hand, 
And close by his side was Sir Barnaby plac'd, 

And around them a fair jolly band. 
The music it play'd, and the goblet went rounds 

The whole were right merry I ween ; 
For never before, in all Christendom's ground, 

Such a wedding, till now, had been seen. 
The night it grew late, and the company broke, 

Each one to his chamber was led ; 
Sir Barnaby lastly, to finish the joke, 

Led his fair grumbling consort to bed ! 
And far on the couch, without one kind embrace, 

He laid her, her head to the wall ; 
And close in the curtain he wrapp'd his own face s 

Resolv'd not to touch her at all. 
r 



16*2 THE FRIGHTFUL BEATJTYY 

All night on his pillow he toss'd and he moan'd, 

But sleep on his eye-lids ne'er press'd ; 
Nor once to the bride e'er the live-Ion o- night 
turned, 

But wish'd her eternal good rest ! 
As soon as the goddess of morning arose. 

Sir Barnaby rose from his bed : 
In hasty confusion he put on his clothes, 

And forth from the chamber he sped. 
u O whither thus haste you,good Sir, (said the bride ; } 

O whither thus early ? (she said ;) 
Twice all night with a damsel you've lain by your 
side, 

And each morning have left her a maid !*' 
Sir Barnaby turn'd him around with surprise, 

For she ne'er yet had spoken before ; 
And to any question, her constant replies* 

Were only a humph, and no more! 
But more was his wonder on viewing tht bride,. 

Whom he left in disgust as I ween, 
When, lo ! a most beautiful damsel he spied,. 

Where his grunt er-fac'd lady had been. 
" If you I've neglected, (Sir Barnaby said,) 

'Twas because that my senses were stole, 
But certes you shan't be much longer a maid,— 

The third night shall pay for the whole. 
But say, by the virgin, fair lady, (said he,) 

Now what all those matters may mean ; 
Or how may this strange metamorphosis be ? 

Fair dame, 'tis most wondYous, I ween, 



THE FRIGHTFUL BEAUTY. \6o 

*'My step-mother was a mischievous old witch, 

Who in cunning all others excell'd ; 
Who, knowing full well I should one day be rich, 

Transform 'd me, as you have beheld. 
My own proper form, one short day in the year, 

She had left me the pow'r to assume; 
A monster the rest I was doom'd to appear, 

Tho' I now am but just in my bloom. 
All cruelly sentenced in this shocking plight, 

To wear out the whole of my life ; 
But the spell was to cease if I met with a knight 

That would take me and make me his wife." 
Xing Harry the Eighth, with his gay gallant band, 

Were assembled below in the hall ; 
Sir Barnaby went with his bride in his hand ? 

And presented her there to them all. 
And truly Sir Barnaby there he rehears 'd 

The matter, just as it had pass'd; 
" My soul ! (said the King,) if you blunder'd at 
first, 

You have made a good market at last" 




164 



ALLEN AND ELLEN 



JB AIR Ellen she came to the Esk river side, 
She wanted to pass, but no passage could view; 

The water was deep, and the water was wide, 
And much tho' she wanted, she durst not wade 
thro\ 

Fair Ellen she look'd for the boatman full sore, 
She look'd all around, but no boatman could 
see; 

u Is nobody coming to carry me o'er, 

Before either drownd or benighted I be?" 

At length looking wistfully round she espied 
A little old man with his boat by the shore ; 

€t O little old ferryman, (fair Ellen cried,) 
O little old man, will you carry me o'er ?" 

*' O where wouldst thou ferry to, Lady, so sweet, 

where wouldst thou ferry to, tell me, I pray ? 
The water is wide, and the water is deep"; 

1 cannot cross over so late in the day." 



ALLEN" AND ELLEN. 165 

M Why will you not ferry me over the stream, 
Why will you not ferry me, little old man ? 

I'll guerdon you double when danger's extreme ; 
Then do, good old ferryman, do if you can." 

u O where wouldst thou ferry to, Lady, so sweet, 

where wouldst thou ferry to, tell me, I pray? 
The water is wide, and the water is deep ; 

1 cannot cross over so late in the day." 

fi Then I will go leave thee, (fair Ellen she said,) 
No more will I ask thee, thou stingy old man ; 

The poor little ferryman down at Green Bed, 
I know he will carry me o'er if he can." 

" O where wouldst thou ferry to, Lady so sweet, 

where wouldst thou ferry to, tell me, I pray? 
The water is wide, and the water is deep, 

1 would not advise you to cross it to-day." 

iC O yes, I must cross it to-night if I can, 
The reasons are urgent that press upon me ; 

Then ferry me over, thou little old man, 

And treble thy guerdon, believe me, shall be- w 

" But, tell me, fair lady, what causes thy haste, 
The day is far spent, and the night coming on; 

Thy reasons are urgent 1 doubt not the least, 
JBut speak them, fair lady, and I will be gone." 



16*6 ALLEN AND ELLENS 

Fair Ellen she blush'd like the fair summer rose. 

'Twas bashful confusion that crimson'd her 
cheek ; 
The reason she was not afraid to disclose, 

But modesty solely forbade her to speak. 

" Excuse virgin fondness, (the damsel replied,) 
Tho' you'll blame my reasons, they're weighty 
with me : 

Young Allen he promis'd to make me his bride; 
To-morrow, to-morrow our wedding should be. 

tf He faithfully promis'd to meet me to-diy, 
I know him too w T ell to dispute what he said ; 

But why he his coming so long should delay? 
O boatman, O boatman, I'm sadly afraid! 

" The river is deep, and the river is wide, 
The fresh water furiously comes from above ; 

The sands they are bad, and full high runs the tide, 
And much do I fear for the fate of my love." 

" O Ellen, O Ellen, the ferryman cried, 
Thy Allen now sleeps in a watery bed ! 

He never, no never, shall make thee his bride — - 
The cold waves of Solway run over his head ! 

u All faithful to thee, he set out from his home ; 

He came to the Esk, it was wide, it w r as deep ; 
He ventur'd — he there found a wat'ry tomb. 

In Sol way's foul sands doth thy lover now sleep!'' 



ALLEN AND ELLEN. 167 

Fair Ellen she heard the old ferryman's tale ; 

Fair Ellen she heard, but she made no reply ; 
Her eyes they grew languid, her face it grew pale. 

And ever and ever she heaVd the deep sigh. 

She wistfully look'd where the boatman had stood ? 

She wistfully look'd, but the boatman was gone! 
Before her she heard and beheld the fierce flood, 

But she on its margin was standing alone. 

All stupidly speechless she homeward return'd ; 

She rav'd not, she spoke not, her grief was ex- 
treme ; 
Convuls'd was her face, but in silence she mourn'd, 

As sadly she went by the side of the stream. 

By fever and phrenzy throughout the next day, 
The poor helpless Ellen was kept to her bed ; 

And, sighing full sore, she would frequently say 
" The cold waves of Solway run over his headT r 

w Thy Allen, all faithful, set out from his home, 
He came to the Esk, it was wide, it was deep, 

He ventured — he there found a wat'ry tomb — 
In Sol way's foul sands doth thy lover now sleep t 

* e Ah, curse on thy waters,thou proud running river. 
Ah, curse on thy fountains and streams as they 
flow ; 
Those love had united thus rutV™ 

He's drown'd in thy waters, Fm drown/d in my 
woe. 



168 ALLEN AND ELLEN, 

** 'Twas cruel in thee, thou black Esk, to detain 
My Allen, my love, my husband, my life! 

But I'll have him from thee, foul river, again; 
I must, I have promis'd I will be his wife ! 

" Tho' Sol way's cold waters run over his head, 
What tho* my love lie in the midst of thy clay, 

Tho* in thy foul sands be m}^ poor Allen's bed, 
Yet will I be with him, and with him I'll stay/" 

The fever, tho' strong, yet retir'd b}^ degrees, 
But her senses were gone, they return'd not 
again ; 

Her heart by recov'ry recover'd no ease, 
And perfectly turn'd was the poor Ellen's brain. 

Now oft would she rove by the deep river side; 

Her sorrow was silent, none heard her complain, 
Unless when saluting the wind or the tide, 

And then she would call on her Allen in vain. 

Whene'er the foul gull or the cormorant rose, 
" Ah, yonder's my lover, (poor Ellen would cry,) 

I'll follow my Allen wherever he goes ;" 
Then stretch out her arms in an effort to fly. 

Along the smooth sands in distraction she'd run, 
Crying — " Stop, cruel lover, nor leave me alone ! 

Why dost thou poor Ellen thus pitiless shun ?" 
When tir'd, she would weep when the object 
was gone. 



ALLEN AN© ELLEN, I69 

f ' Ah, how couldst thou leave me, thus cruelly 
leave ine ? 
Abandon thy Ellen to wailing and woe ! 
I never once thought that the youth would de- 
ceive me, 
I never deceived thee ; ah ! no, my iove, no I 

" O'er earth and o'er ocean impatient I'll fly, 
On pinions full swiftly his course I'll pursue ; 

I know that my Allen has sought yonder sky, 
The spirit of Ellen will wander there too." 

The waters of Ederi were heavy and deep, 

The winds they were howling, and dark was 
the day, 

When Ellen^ poor Ellen ^ stood high on the steeps 
And ardently gaz'd on the gale-driven spray. 

The foul hooting sea-gull arose from the wave, 
The maniac beheld it and shriek'd out amain — -- 

" O Allen, O Allen, thy Ellen now save! 
And cruelly do not desert me again !" 

The damsel observ'd not the place where she 
stood, 

Her mind had, alas ! other objects in view ; 
The precipice steep, and the black rolling flood, 

The slightest attention from Ellen ne'er drew< 



170 



ALLEN AND ELLEN. 



u Yes, yes, I am coming ! (exclaim'd the fond 
maid,) 

O Allen, why thus from thy love dost thou fly? 
Yet, yet will I follow thee swiftly, (she said,) 

On pinions as fleet, to yon fair shining sky." 

So said — she sprang forward ; but, ah ! the de^p 
river 

Received her ! the struggle of life was soon o'er ; 
A moment she scream'd, then was silent for ever, 

And poor hapless Ellen was heard of no more ! 




171 



THE 



MOUNTAIN MANIAC 



JuLARK ! the hoarse, loud whirlwind howling ! 

See the light'ning's dazzling glare ! 
Hear the deafning thunders rolling 

Thro* the agitated air. 

See, where mighty forests bending, 
With their heads salute the ground, 

Whilst their tortur'd branches rending, 
O'er the waste are scatter'd round. 

Hear yon cliff, by force stupendous, 

Rifted from the mountain's brow ; 
Tumbling down, with crash tremendous, | 

To the hideous gulph below ! 

There the water-sprite loud yelling, 

Mingles with the bellowing gale$ Jp 

And wild Nature's chorus swellingj 

Echoes loudly thro' the dale, 
z 2 



172 THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC, 

At a distance, hear old Ocean 

Furious dash th' obstructing shore ; 

And amidst the wild commotion, 
Raise a supersounding roar. 

** Roar on, ye thunders ! whirlwinds, louder howl ! 

Your's is the music that best suits my soul ! 

Not the vex'd ocean, nor the tprtur'd wind 

Jlndure a conflict equal to my mind! 

Your conflicts sometimes cease—that in my breast 

Fpr ever rages, never finding rest ! 

Oh ! I am sick ! and my drain 'd heart denies 

Its kindly tears to cool my scorching eyes ! 

A fever fires my brain ; congeals my blood ! — 
While I am more than mad with wild despair ! 
And, as beneath I hear the rushing flood, 
I'm half resolv'd to calm the conflict there : 
But, as if to perpetuate my care, 
The cruel fates my purposes withstood ; 
I'm held by force in being, still to bear 
Misfortune's scourge, and o'er those evils broody 
Which death alone can quiet and conclude ! 

I climb o'er the mountains 1 1 plunge thro' the dale ! 
I am drench'd by the show'r— and am dried by 

the gale ! 
The rude blasts of winter unheeded I bear ; 
Keen hunger sustain, yet these cause not my care ! 



THE MOUNTAIN MANtAC, 1/3 

TJie anguish, deep-rooted, is fix'd in my heart, 
And till that shall burst, I must suffer the smart/ 5 

<* Who would believe that such excessive woe, 
Would not have done the business long ago : 
But surely mine of sorrows are the worst, 
They petrify the heart that they should burst! 
And, from the consequences of excess, 
Instead of shortening, lengthen my distress !" 

But, see, the tempest 'gins to cease, 
The battling elements at peace 
Are hush'd into a calm serene, 
And sweetly smiles the rural scene. 
The soaring lark on quiv'ring wings, 
To heav'n her raptur'd carol sings, 
The azure vault, cerulian clear, 
Bids nature's languid offspring cheer, 
The giaddning summons pleas'd and gay, 
Creation hastens to obey. 
The hart his covert now forsakes, 
Despising bow'rs and shelt'ring brakes j 
And o'er the mountain bounds elate, 
On daisied lawns to join his mate ; 
The sounding bittern quits the glen, 
The snipe forsakes the marshy fen; 
And all the children of the air 
The common invitation share ; 
'Tis love the rising joy excites, 
Tis love tliat all the throng invites. 



174 THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. 

" Then may not I the cheerful concourse join ? 

Shall love invite, and Oscar not obey ? 
Where is the passion that can equal mine ; 

Which time nor absence can allay ; 

But as it lives, grows stronger with each day !,' 

Down the mountain's sunny side 
Swift I sweep, to bring my bride ; 
Saunt'ring in the verdant vale, 
Listening to the cuckoo's tale. 
In the scented myrtle grove, 
Sweetly sits my pensive love : 

Whilst around their scents exhaling, 
Sweet the rose and woodbine blow, 

With their od'rous breath regaling 
Julia, as she sits below. 

Julia! blooming, beauteous maid ! 
Leave awhile the bow'ry shade ; 
Leave awhile thy soft recess, 
And thy longing lover bless : 
Leave awhile thy peaceful dreams, 
Myrtles-shades, and murm'ring streams ; 
And with fond impatience haste, 
All the joys of love to taste ! 

With what pleasure I'll behold thee, 
With what rapture I'll enfold thee, : 



THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. 175 

Haste then, Julia, come away, 
This is Hymen's holiday : 

Pleasure ev'ry sense delighting ; 
Haste then, Julia, come away, 

For the season's most inviting. 

On the blue-rob "'d sun-gilt mountain 

Will I make thy heathy bed ; 
By the side of yonder fountain, 

There our banquet shall be spread. 

Strains of love, in softest numbers. 

On my dulcet pipes I'll play, 
To provoke refreshing slumbers, 

As I guard thee thro' the day, 

But see, where all-blooming my Julia comes. 

Her smiles are the op'ning of spring; 
Her presence, all- lovely, my bosom re-cheers, 
Fond transports revive,anddispell'd are my fears, 

'Tis Julia alone could such extacy bring. 

Then, come, my dear Julia, great nature's fair 

blossom ; 
Come, come, and recline thy dear head in my 

bosoms 
The fond throbbing heart how with rapture 'tis 

beating, 
To think on the pleasures of this happy meeting ! 



176 THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. 

What makes thee linger thus, most lovely maid? 
Randolph is dead ! thou need'st not be afraid ; 
Ah, me ! she shrieks ! — the villain there behold* 
With rude embrace my timid wife enfold ! 
" Unhand her 3 monster ! or, by yonder heav'n ! 
Thou'rt in an. instant to damnation driv'n ! 
'Twere better thou hadst never seen the light, 
Than with this outrage to provoke my sight. 
Beast ! dost thou mock my anger? then, come on.! 
O God ! O God ! what has my fury done ! 
She bleeds ! she falls ! — perdition seize thy soul [ 
Death is too little for a crime so foul. 

My rapier's point shall tap tlvy lustful blood, 

To the extinction of the very heat 

Which has inflanfd thee to this dev'lish deed. 

Oh! I will launch thy soul before v t has time 

To scream for mercy, or to sue for pardon, . 

And hurl it headlong to infernal hell ! 

There, there ! begone to everlasting death! 

And may thy soul as little mercy find* 

Where I transmit thee > as I've shewn thee here !— * 

But, oh ! my Julia ! why so sadly mute ? 

The ruffian now is huslfd — and so art thou !— - 

Oh ! I am madly mad, past all relief, 
With indignation, love, and bursting grief : 
Not all the tortures hell to guilt can deal, 
Can parallel the torments that I feel ! 



THE MOUNTAIN" MANIAC, 177 

O my poor Julia ! O my lovely bride ! 
So sooil, so sadly soon, thus torn away, 
Would, would to heav'n, that I myself had died ! 
Ere I had seen this lamentable day* 

O Julia, thy spirit that hovers around me, 

Will pardon my rashness, and pity my griefs 
Will pity those feelings that mortally wound me, 
For whose keen endurance time brings no relief. 
I'm wretched, I'm mad, I'm more than distracted. 
To think on the sad cruel work I have acted, 
Yet that which is over can ne'er be retracted, 
Tho' mine with misfortunes may stand as the 
chief. 

Ye thunders that roll thro 1 the sky, 
Ye tempests that furiously blow, 

Now bellow your loudest, and try 
To make me forget all my woe* 

Let earthquakes and deluges wage 
Their warfare on nature each hour. 

They could not exhibit my rage, 
Were I but possess 'd of their pow'r. 

The tempest that ocean deforms, 
The whirlwinds that ruffle the air s 

Are not to compare with the storms 
This bosom is destin'd to bear. 

A A 



178 THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. 

But ah, alas ! where are my senses fled ? 
I've lost my wife, my hapless Julia's dead ! 
Blow, blow, ye winds ! ye rifting tempests howl ! 
In showr's letheav'n's red thunderbolts be huiTd! 
Wild from their orbits let the planets roll, 
And discompose the fabric of the world ! 
Tear up old ocean till the yellow sand 
Work into foam, and on the surface stand ! 

But, hark ! what voice is that I hear, 
That midst the tumult strikes mine ear ? 
'Tis my Julia ? lovely maid ! 
J Tis my Julia's mournful shade. 
Touch'd in death with deep concern, 
Hark ! she bids me cease to mourn* 
Gentle spirit, peace ! — refrain — 
Oscar shall be sooth'd again. 

Yes, passion's storm is o'er ! the furious blast 

Subsides into a stupid calm at last. 

Ah ! gentle stranger, in thy wond'ring eyes, 

I read at once thy pity and surprise : 

Sit down, and hear the story of my woes^ 

Communication some relief bestows ; 

And this recital may, perhaps, in part, 

Abate the surflux of my delug'd heart 



THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC, 179 



THE MANIACs TALE, 



NEAR where yon shady coppice spreads. 

Deserted and forlorn, 
The neat but humble cottage stands, 

The place where I was born. 

Where, thro* the spring-tide of my life, 

The moments gaily flew; 
And where uninterrupted joy 

Full twenty years I knew. 

The daughter of an honest swain, 

Fair Julia, long I lov'd -, 
Nor long till kindly she confess'd 

My passion she approv'd. 

Increasing happiness and joy 

To me each morning brought, 

And, if true bliss man e'er possess'd* 
'Twas mine, I vainly thought. 

A A 2 



180 THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. 

By Hymen soon our hands were join'd, 
My utmost wishes crown'd i 

And what most ardent love could hope, 
Full realiz'd I found. 

Bless'd with the chosen of my heart, 

My Julia, lovely bride ! 
My happiness was so complete, 

I had no wish beside. 

But, oh ! how little was the time 
Those pleasures were to last ! 

But one short week — fell ruin came, 
That blessedness to blast ! 

It chanc'd that on-a sultry day, 
To seek the cooling shade, 

My Julia to the copse, alone, 
Had negligently stray 'd. 

Sir Randolph, he, the haughty Lord 
Of all this vast domain, 

Had long seduction's basest arts 
On Julia tried in vain, 

He met her in the lonely shade, 
He there resold amain, 

By violence to win the prize 
He might not else obtain* 



THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. J|| 

Alarm'd — the fair one scream 'cl aloud ! 

I heard- — my sword I drew ; 
And, wing'd with fondness, thro' the grovg 

To her assistance flew. 

I, in an instant, reach'd the place, 

And there rny Julia found 
All breathless, struggling in his arms, 

And sinking to the ground ! 

u Turn, villain, turn ! enrag'd, (I cried,) 

And yield thy forfeit life ; 
Nor within punity expect 

To violate my wife." 

As the fierce lioness who views 

Her whelps by hunters torn, 
So rush'd I to the fatal place, 

With jealous fury borne 

With fqul confusion in his looks,, 

My rage the villain saw ; 
And, tho' he scorn'd inglorious flight* 

He had no. time to draw. 

But, as with more than mortal ire, 

I madly onward press'd, 
He turn'd my Julia to my sword, 

Which stabb'd her lovely breast ! 



182 THE MOUNTAIN MANIAC. 

If keenest pangs of jealous hate 

My bosom rent before ; 
Yet, to behold this cruel scene, 

Inflam'd me ten times more. 

I madly bellow'd with my rage, 
The cause was surely great ; 

And tho' I took Sir Randolph's life, 
Revenge felt incomplete ! 

I pierc'cl his body thro* and thro', 
Remorse my heart had none ; 

For, oh ! my Julia, lovely bride ! ' 
She was for ever gone ! 

O heav'ns ! what anguish then was mine! 

Revenge had done its worst ; 
Tho' late the happiest of mankind, 

I now was doubly curs'd. 

A whirling phrenzy seiz'd my brain, 

Strange shadows dimm'd my sight ! 

My burning eyes refus'd to flow., 
And reason left me quite. 

The bleeding bodies from the place 

I madly dragg'd away ; 
And in that grave, dug by these hands, 

Now lies my Julia's clay. 



THE MOUNTAPN MANIAC. 

Expos'd upon the mountain's side 
Sir Randolph's carcase lies ; 

On his detested corse I yet 

Can glut my vengeful eyes ! 

And here I range the forest wild, 

Un wistful of relief I 
Assur'd no hand, but that of deaths 

Can mitigate my grief. 



183 




184 



MARION MACKYE, 



BUT lately I pass'd by the heath covered hill, 

Near the road where the traveller oft sees 
The poor hapless maniac, who, seated there still, 
On the green grassy bank, be the gale hot or cliillj 
Responsively sighs to the breeze. 

Observe her shrunk eyes, how distracted they 
stare, 

And how blanclrd are her cheeks by her woe \ 
Her garments are rent, and her bosom is bare, 
Her ringlets neglectedly float in the air, 

And she hoots at the winds as they blow. 

Vet beauty once sat on that now sallow cheek, 

Soft lustre iilumin'd her eye; 
Keen sense nr'd that heart, that's now ready to 

break, 
And the neighbours extol, as they frequently speak 

Of the charms of poor Marion Mackye. 



MARION MACKYE. 185 

Young Andrew she lov'd, nor unheeded her flame, 

The youth was as tender as true ; 
One soul seem'd in both ev'ry passion to frame, 
Their prospects, their hopes, and their fears, were 
the same, 

An4 in both mutual sympathy grew. 

A mariner he ? o'er the boist'rous main, 
Sought his fortune in many a clime ; 
Whilst she watch'd her flocks o'er the wide- 
spreading plain, 
Endear ? d to each nymph, and admir'd by each 
swain, 
For Marion was just in her prime, 

A contract of marriage they mutually swore, 
But, in hopes their poor stock to improve, 

He thought he would trust to the billows once 
more, 

By one lucky voy'ge to mend his little store, 
Then return, and be bless'd with his love. 



The canvas unfurled, soon the bark she set sail ; 

Serene was .the face of the main; 
The winds were auspicious, quite steady the gale, 
And fate with success seem'd their passage to hail, 

And the crew with their prospect were fain. 

B B 



186 MARION MACKYE, 

The eyes of young Marion the vessel pursu'd 

As far as one speck could be seen • 
But when the dear object no longer she view'd, 
The fast-falling tears her fair bosom bedew'd, 
And she sank, 'midst her griefs, on the green. 



The neighbours the maid gently bore to her bow'r, 

Kindly seeking to comfort her woes ; 
But e'en from the morn till the midnight sad hour 
Her eyes appear'd delugd with one ceaseless 
show'r, 
And Marion seem'd lost to repose. 



Tho ? storms may perplex the vast depths of the 
main, 

And Nature's fair aspect deform ; 
Yet but for a period the conflict can reign, 
Serenity, time shall restore us again, 

And a calm still succeeds to a storm* 



Thus Marion, poor girl ! tho* she languished awhile 

In all the excess of despair, 
By degrees grew more tranquil, a hope-aiding 

smile 
Illumin'd her eye, her sad heart to beguile, 

And serenity mix'd in her air. 



MAKIOST MACKYE* 187 

Yet constant at ev'ning, when bus'ness was o'er* 

And day from the west 'gan to part, 
Impatient she'd haste her away to the shore, 
There over the ocean would anxiously pore, 
Sigh and pray for the youth of her heart ! 

At length came the news that the bark^aomeward 
bound, 
Was fast nearing the long wish'd-for port ; 
What raptures the bosom of Marion now found! 
Her wishes and pray'rs with success seem'd ail 
crown'd, 
And no longer of fortune the sport 



Three whole tedious days at the haven she staid, 

In hopes their arrival to hail -, 
Each noise that she heard — " They're now com* 

ing," she said, 
In each passing tar her dear Andrew survey'd, 

And their vessel in each passing saiL 

The fourth morning came> but with it came the 
news, 
Ship and crew had all founder^ at sea ; 
The shock all the reason of Marion subdues, 
Of cruelty heav'n she dares to accuse, 
And her wits are quite wander'd away. 
bb2 



188 MARION MACKYE. 

The corpse of her true love, by one kindly wave 

Was wash'd up, with two or three more ; 
A burial, in pity, the peasantry gave, 
And all were together interr'd in one grave, 
On a hillock that's close to the shore. 

Here seated she'll sob all the summer day long, 

E'en in winter, be foul or be fair ; 
Unheeding the traveller that passes along, 
Claps her hands at the birds as they carol their 
song, 

Claps her hands, tho* there be not one there. 

Or sometimes, perchance, to the beach she may 
roam, 
On the sad cruel billows to stare ; 
There oft, in her phrenzy, find Andrew come 

home, 
Or see him wild riding upon the white foam, 
Then again sink to gloomy despair. 

But lately I pass'd her, sat on the green grave; 

I spoke, but she made no reply ; 
Her hands she kept smiting, but gave me a waive, 
As much as to say, I but solitude crave, 
u And that, (I exclaiind,) hapless maid, thoushalt 
have!" 

As she sigh'd out—" Poor Marion Mackye." 



m 

THE 

CRUEL HUNTSMAH 



ARGUMENT. 
The following Story is founded on a relation of an apparition once very 
famous, and equally troublesome, in the neighbourhood of YVigton, ill 
Cumberland. The manner, with many of the circumstances, it must be 
confessed* have a striking resemblance to one of the stories in the Deca* 
meron of Boccace, translated by Mr. Dry den, in his tale ef " Theodore 
and Honore." 



JLONG o'er moss and moorland dreary, 
Plunging sloWj in piteous plight, 

Cuthbert wander'd, wet and weary, 
Lost amid the gloom of night 

Not one ray the desert bright'ning, 
To direct him thro' the maze ; 

Save by turns the gleaming light'ning 5 
"With its transitory blaze. 

Loud and hoarse the winds were howling 
Thro' the circumjacent woods : 

At a distance headlong rollings 
Waver * pour'd its furious floods. 



* Waver, a river hear Wigtom 



i90 THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. 

Each advance evinc'd new danger,- 
Tho' with caution he proceeds ; 

Yet the weary 'wilderVl stranger, 
Wists not where his journey leads* 

Onward still, with anxious toiling, 
Doth he thro' the quagmire plode ; 

Hoping chance and sore turmoiling 
May direct him to the road. 

But at length, still more entangled 
In the close impervious wood, 

With his feet all maim'd and mangled, 
Quite irresolute he stood* 

Jpitchy darkness all surrounding, 
FilFd him with unwonted fears , 

And the tempests roar confounding* 
Deaf 'ning, thunder'd in his ears. 

Tho' with toil and terror harass 'd, 
Tho' inclement was the night, 

He resolves within the forest 
To await the morning light. 

Long in this dejected languor 
Hapless Cuthbert had not stood, 

When he heard a hell-like clangour 
Loud resounding thro' the wood. 



THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. 191 

Shrill the huntsman's bugle winding, 
Thro' the gloomy forest sounds ; 

And, as if their prey now finding, 
Loudly yelp'd the clam'rous hounds. 

Shouts of rage and indignation 

Verberated thro' the air • 
And, as if in supplication, 

Shriek'd the voice of sad despair. 

Nearer seem'd the sound advancing, 
Cuthbert heard them with surprise; 

And athwart the forest glancing, 
Num'rous torches struck his eyes ! 

And, anon, full swiftly speeding, 

Fast a female figure flew, 
Naked, mangled, breathless, bleeding !—^ 

Whom the dogs as fast pursue. 

Close behind a figure follow 'd, 
Helm'd and harness'd as a knight^ 

Who with dreadful menace hallo'd 
To the female in her flight. 

Sable was the steed he drifted, 

Sable were the arms he wore - 3 
In one hand a sword uplifted, 

Whilst a scourge the other bore. 



10$ THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN 

This, in wrath full oft resounded 
On the female's back and sides ; 

And her tender limbs sore wounded, 
Scatter'd fast their crimson tides., 



Whilst her undefended haunches 
Oft the dogs remorseless tore, 

And the shrubs and neighb'ring branches 
Were besprinkled with her gore. 

Madly with her anguish roaring. 
Shrieking many a piteous yell. 

And for mercy loud imploring, 
Down at Cuthberfs feet she fell ! 

Whilst the fell pursuer urging 
Forward on his coal-black steed. 

The poor victim still kept scourging, 
Nor for aught might pity plead. 

For awhile she seem'd to languish 
With the pangs of parting breath! 

But, o'ercpme with pain and anguish, 
Silent ! — hush'd !— she lay in death !— 

He, the knight, whose fiend-like malice, 
E'en to death his fury press'd, 

Now to all compassion callous, 
Thrust his faulchion thro' her breast ! 



THE CRUEL HUNTSMAK. . 1Q$ 

Rouz'd with gen'rous indignation 

At the cruel sanguine sight, 
Cuthbert, with an imprecation, 

Thus address'd the sable knight : — 

" Stranger, say, with guise uncommon, 
Doth this well with knighthood suit ; 

Thus a feeble helpless woman 
Cruelly to persecute ? 

* c Thus impetuously to urge her 
Thro* the forest's ample bounds ; 

Thus inhumanly to scourge her, 
And to tear her with thy hounds ?" 

" Let amazement have suspension, 
Check thy anger, (said the knight,) 

Far beyond thy comprehension 

Are the things before thy sight. . 

" Of this work, but little weening^ 

Do not hastily decide ; 
Charitable tho' thy meaning, 

Mercy may be misapplied, 

" Little knowest thou th' occasion 
Of this treatment thought severe ; 

Less the fatal ordination 
That compels me to be here, 
cc 



19^ THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN* 

u But as pity prompts thine error, 

Prejudice awhile forego ; 
Rage suspend, and banish terror, 

Listen, and my story know. 

te Haply, hearing my narration, 
Chang'd thy sentiments may be ; 

And a share of thy compassion 
Kindly may extend to me. 

c< All those lands that round are scatter^ 
Once confess'd me as their lord, 

Then was I caress'd and flatter'd, 
Num'rous vassals own'd my word. 

" Gen'rous, liberal in my nature, 
Affluence procur'd me fame ; 

Comely form'd, and tall in stature ; — 
Alvin, stranger, is my name. 

" Happy quite, if worldly treasure 
E'er could happiness bestow -, 

But 'tis seldom perfect pleasure 
Can from fortune's favours flow. 

<£ In those days when softest passions 
Steal upon the tender mind ; 

When of love the first impressions 
Entrance to our bosoms find; 



THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. ]Q5 

" Then it was that at her window, 

Gaily standing on a day, 
First I saw the fair Lucinda, 

And she stole my heart away. 

" All the arts that love makes use of, 

Now I tried with fondest care ; 
Presents, pray'rs, alike profuse of, 

All to gain the lovely fair. 

" She, although her love confessing, 

Yielded to become my wife ; 
And, possess'd of such a blessing, 

Happy seem'd my future life. 

" Then it was I loy'd her dearly, 

And her ev'ry word belie v'd ; 
Hoping she lov'd as sincerely ; 

But how sore was I deceived 1 

" Yet, amid this fond delusion, 
On which all my hopes were built, 

Soon I found, to my confusion^ 
All wa,s perfidy and guilt 

" Bred midst scenes of rural pleasure, 

Frequen t in a country place, 
All my intervals of leisure 

Were devoted to the chace, 
c c% 



\gG THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. 

"In a fair autumnal morning, 
Tir'd with sport and sylvan play, 

Home I chanc'd to be returning 
Ere my wonted time of day. 

" But not with Lucinda meetings 
As was usual, in the hall, 

To salute with kindly greeting 
My return, I mus'd withal. 

f Of the vassals then demanding 
Where their Lady had withdrawn^ 

One, who by my side was standing. 
Told me she was on the lawn. 

" To the lawn with speed I hasted, 
Careful trac'd the park around ; 

But enquiry here was wasted, 
No Lucinda could be found ! 

" In my garden next I sought her; 

Ah ! that sad, that fearful hour ! 
With a stranger there I caught her 5 

Basely fondling in the bow'r ! 

u On his breast her head reclining, 
Whilst his arms embrac'd my wife | 

At her fate she loud repining, 
Cursing too the marriage life ! 



THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. 19? 

H This was not an hour for chiding, 
Who would then have patience left ? 

Frantic grown, beyond all biding, 
And of reason quite bereft, 

" From its sheath my vengeful hanger 

Suddenly enrag'd I drew; 
And, with more than mortal anger. 

Madly run the traitor thro'. 

u She, without reply or speaking, 
Wrung her hands, and tore her hair, 

And with frantic fury shrieking, 
Seem'd to rend the very air. 

(i Tho' till now I lov'd her dearly, 
Lov'd her !— yes, I must confess ; 

Yet I beat her now severely; 

And what husband could do less ? 

" Silently my blows sustaining, 

Still she answer'd not a word ; 
But her liberty regaining, 

Instantly snatch'd up my sword ! 

" Unsuspecting her intention, 

With my fury quite oppressed, 
Ere a moment's intervention, 

With its point she pierc'd my breast! 



JP8 THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. 

^ Thus of life this wretch depriv'd me, 

Unrepented — unprepar'd ! 
Tho' herself not long surviv'd me, 

Ere an equal fate she shar'd. 

" On yon lake one ev'ning sailing, 
Where I oft had pleasure found ; 

She, by chance her footing failing, 
Tumbled over, and was drown'd ! 

" Since that time my rueful sentence 
Is, when daylight disappears, 

As I died without repentance, 
Here to range a thousand years ! 

" And each year without abatement, 

For her treason so impure, 
What you thought such cruel treatment, 

I must act, and she endure ! 

" Full one hundred years a;e pass'd of, 
Since this direful work began, 

And nine hundred more still last of 
Our award, ere all is done ( 

ec Save one of the holy dyat, 

By kind charity impressed, 
Shall, by pray'r, reverse the fiat, 

And my spirit send to rest 



THE CRUEL HUNTSMAN. 19$ 

" But the grey-ey'd glimpse of twilight, 
And the shrill- voiced bird of day, 

Now proclaim 'd that it was nigh light, 
As the shades wore fast away." 

In a moment all was silent, 

Fast the beams of morning spread ; 

And the storm, so loud and vi'lent, 
Hush'd, as fast the vision fled I 

Homeward, sore dismay'd and frighted, 
Cuthbert hied him o'er the green ; 

And to gaping crowds recited 
All the wonders he had seen. 

Long throughout the forest raging, 
On that night, says legend-fame, 

With a wrath, time not assuaging, 
Alvin chas'd the woeful dame. 

Till at length a holy brother 

Of the neighb'ring convent heard^ 

By complaints from one and other, 
How the country Alvin fear'd„ 

Deeming it a work of merit 

His quietus to restore, 
Exorcis'd the troubled spirit, 

Who was never heard of more ! 



200 
THE 

MYSTERIOUS VISITOR, 



J. WAS near to Strivlen* on a night, 
Sir Simon with his legion lay, 
The midnight moon she beared more bright, 
Than beam'd his hopes of coming day. 

The centinels were on the watch, 

Caernarvon's spreading camps around ; 

Whilst some, o'ertoil'd, were fain to snatch 
A moment's slumber on the ground. 

No echo floated on the blast, 
The hour was silent as the grave ; 

Save where the soldiers, as they pass'd, 
The counter-sign alternate gave. 

Sir Simon from his slumber woke, 

He started up in wild surprise ; 
He thought he heard a voice which spoke, 

And said — Sir Simon, haste, arise !" 



* Strivten? an old name for Stirling* 



THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 201 

The moon, a sort of scanty glare, 
T illume his darksome tent supplied ; 

He thought he kenn'd a lady fair, 
All shiv'ring stand by his bed-side. 

Lie to the wall ! thou baron brave ; 

Lie to wall, make room for me ! 
A lady lorne doth shelter crave, 

And she would sleep to-night with thee. 

Sir Simon was a worthy wight, 

And eke as fam'd for gallantry ; 
Nor was there a more courteous knight 

Than him in all the North country. 

Come to my couch, thou lady fair, 

To shelter thee, am I right fain ; 
My pallet, welcome, shalt thou share, 

Thou art so like my Lady Jane. 

Sir Knight, hast thou a Lady Jane ? 

If so, I may not sleep with thee ; 
No ; I must wander on again, 

And for some other shelter see. 

Yes ; Lady Jane she is my wife, 

But she is now far, far away ; 
Then turn thee in, my dearest life, 

And shelter till the dawn of day* 



202 THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 

Didst thou e'er love thy Lady Jane, 
Didst thou e'er doat upon her charms, 

Didst thou e'er feel a moment's pain 
When she was absent from thy arms ? 

Yes, I have lov'd my Lady Jane ; 

Yes, I have doatcd on her charms ; 
And I have felt a peerless pain 

When she was absent from my arms. 

Then how canst thou, Sir Simon, say, 
(If thou hast lov'd as thou hast said,) 

Thus take another lady gay 
To be a partner in thy bed ? 

Yes, yes, my love I must avow, 
Still Lady Jane is dear to me, 

But so alike to her art thou, 
It is not strange I fancy thee. 

Thy shape, thy features, all conspire 
To make me love thee, lovely dame; 

Thy gait, thy gestures, and attire, 
Thy voice, is just the very same. 

Then come to bed, sweet lady fair, 
To shelter thee am I right fain ; 

My pallet thou shalt freely share, 
Thou art so like my Lady Jane. 



THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 203 

Now, she's puird off her scarf and gown> 
And stript her to the very skin ; 
And gaily turn'd the bed-clothes down, 
And gaily has she tumbled in. 

But strangely felt Sir Simon's heart, 
A senseless stupor seiz'd his head ; 

A death-like coldness numb'd each part, 
As his fair consort came to bed ; 

And strange sensations fill'd his mind, 
And oft and sore he gasp'd for breathy 

Nor rest nor pleasure could he find, 
For still he felt cold, — cold as death. 

And chilly, chilly all the night, 
He listless past the hours away ; 

But ne'er once turn'd (nor sought delight) 
Towards the lady where she lay. 

At length appear'd the glimm'ring dawn, 
Things more distinct he 'gan to ken, 

The strange one from his side was gone, 
Had left him — but he knew not when. 

Now, by my sooth, Sir Simon said, 

This is an accident most rare ; 
All night IVe slumber'd by a maid, 

And slighted her ; — a lady fair. 



204 THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 

How must the damsel me despise, 
How much my gallantry disdain ; 

But had I her in such a wise, 
She should not serve me so again. 

Next day the proud embattled hosts 
Menace in combat to engage ; 

But all their threat 'nings and their boasts 
Blow off with vaunts and useless rage. 

Again the hour of midnight came, 

The moon her wonted splendour wore ; 

Again the fair mysterious dame 
Appealed as she had done before. 

And, as upon the former night, 
The lady went to bed, I ween ; 

And, long before the morning light, 
She left Sir Simon's side unseen. 

Whatever sot behav'd like me i 
(Sir Simon with a vengeance said ;) 

Twice has the damsel come right free, 
And twice hath gone away a maid. 

The third night came, the am'rous knight 

Expectant of the lady lay ; 
Again she came, in beauty bright, 

And lay with him till it was day. 



THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR, g05 

But cold, and colder all the night 
The heart of sad Sir Simon grew ; 

And he was in such rueful plight, 
That how it chanc'd he never knew. 

Now he hath call'd his trusty squire, 
And unto him hath sternly said ; 

Did I not, sot ! of thee require 
To watch me well this mystic maid? 

My lord, I watqh'd the live-long night, 
Unslumb'ring, till the dawn of day, 

Bmt neither lady brown, or bright, 
E'er challenged me, or went my way. 

Now verily, Sir Simon said, 

My mind misgives me; and, I fear, 

Instead of this isuppos'd fair maid, 
Some elfin harlot has been here ; 

If so, her visit bodes no good ; 

I would to heav'n the day were o'er ! 
All night my dreams have been of blood, 

And they have troubled me right sore. 

But now the crimson-mantled east 
Its blushing curtains had withdrawn; 

The swagg'ring shadows fast decreas'd, 
That towr'd along the western lawn e 



206 THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 

The harsh-voic'd trumpets 'gan to blow, 
The squadrons for the fight prepare ; 

To Bannockbourne, in order slow, 

They march to meet the kindling war. 

Down from the heights of Strivlen fast 
The Caledonian legions pour; 

A sudden gloom the heav'ns o'erca&t, 
And ominous appear'd the hour. 

The hostile armies soon engage, 
Wild uproar rages o'er the plain * 

Fell ruin spreads with deadly rage ; 
And thousands are by thousands slain, 

Proud Edward's num rous vaunting host 

To patriotic valour yield, 
And, maugre all their former boast, 

By flight inglorious quit the field. 

Sir Simon in the mingled fight 

Received a deep and dang'rous wound ; 

Which render'd him unfit for flight, 
And left him helpless on the ground. 

Towards a neighb'ring clump of trees, 
With mangled limbs he crawfd along; 

At least to lie with greater ease, 
And to avoid the passing throng, 



THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. *%^ 

All on a mossy bank he lay, 

Writhing with pain, besmear'd with gore; 
When, lo, he saw the lady gay 

Whom he had seen the night before. 

Why, how now ! brave Sir Simon, say, 
What brings thee here in such a plight? 

Ill suits the sadness of to-day, 
The gallantries of yesternight. 

Ah ! cruel lady, leave me now ; 

Thy presence hath increas'd my pain ; 
I only sinn'd in thought ; 'twas thou 

Didst challenge me to guilt in vain. 

Oh ! do not mock me in my grief, 

Upon the very verge of death ; 
Twere better thou hadst brought relief, 

For I am sick, and pant for breath. 

I would not mock thee in thy grief, 

Upon the very verge of death ; 
No, I would rather bring relief 

When thou art sick, and pant'st for breath. 

But why, Sir Knight, wouldst thou reply, 
Now conscience checks thee from within, 

That thou art guiltless, and 'twas I 
Who tempted thee to carnal sin ? 



^08 THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 

Didst thou not tease me might and maim 
And ceaseless protestations make; 

I was so like thy Lady Jane, 

That thou didst love me for her sake? 

Didst thou e'er love thy Lady Jane, 
Didst thou e'er doat upon her charms; 

Didst thou e'er feel a moment's pain 
When she was absent from thy arms ? 

Oh ! that my Lady Jane were here, 
Oh! that she saw my woeful plight, 

I wot no labour would she spare, 
But take me to her arms to-night. 

Sir Knight, thy Lady Jane* is here 
Full well she sees thy woeful plight; 

I wot no labour will she spare, 

But take thee to her arms to-night. 

Thy Lady Jane she lov'd thee well, 
Thy Lady Jane was ever true ; 

A victim to her love she fell, 
Sir Simon, yes, for iove of you ! 

Disconsolate — a widow'd bride ; 

Your absence she bewail'd full sore ; 
But when two months were pass'd, she cried, 

M This anguish I'll endure no more ! 



THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 209 

* But I will go and seek my Lord, 

Betide what fortune will to me ; 
Since solitude can nought afford 

But pain and pensive misery." 

Unable with her griefs to cope, 

Straight to the nearest port went she ; 

And there embark 'd, in eager hope 
Ere long her much-lov'd Lord to sec. 

But as towards the foaming Forth 
The tott'ring vessel onward stood, 

A tempest from the hostile North * 
Deep sunk them in the furious flood. 

There deep in death sleeps Lady Jane, 
Her eyes no more shall view the light ; 

Then hear, Sir Simon, once again, 

For thou shalt sleep with her to-night I 

So said, — the spirit, soft as air, 

Evanish'd quickly from his side ! 
Sir Simon rais'd a ghastly stare — 

Then clos'd his languid eyes, and died ! 



E E 



210 



THE FRATRICIDE. 



ARGUMENT. 

r i HE following Ballad is taken from one in Dr. Piercy's collection, called 
" Edward^ Edward." I remember to have heard another old set of 
this song, which seems, in my opinion, to be more ancient than that of 
he Bishop's. It began thus — 

O where gott'st thou that bloody sword. 
Son Davy, son Davy, &c. &c. 

The tenor and equivoques of both were nearly the same, except the catas- 
trophe, in which one confessesthe blood to be that of his brother, whom 
he had killed in a passion, for plucking a young willow, 
** Which plight have been a tree." 

The other avows it to be the blood of his father, and curses his mqther's 
evil counsels for having been the virtual cause of the horrid consequences. 
As the sequels of both are very unsatisfactory, 1 have thought proper to 
assign a more probable reason for the fatal rencontre ; which, in my 
opinion, is preferable to the original, which ever it be. 

W HY looks my son so ghastly pale, 
Why shakes he thus with fear ; 
Why stands he mute — what can he ail ? 
O tell thy mother dear ! 

" Yes, tell me, Godfrey, on thy word, 
Whence comes that dripping brand ? 

>Vhy reeking yet appears thy sword, 
And whence that bloody hand ?*' 



THE FRATRICIDE* 21 1 

u O mother dear ! what needs this fear ; 

What causes this alarm ? 
The blood which you discover here, 

Need indicate no harm. 

cC In Ingiewood I chanc'd to spy 

Some sport upon the plain ; 
My falcon he refus'd to fly — 

I wrung his neck in twain V 

" O son, O son ! to heav'n I would 

Twere sooth as thou hast said; 
But certes, Godfrey, thy hawk's blood 

Was never half so red." 

c * O lady mother, trust thy son, 

When he the truth shall tell ; 
My greyhound he refus'd to run, 

And by my sword he fell !" 

" O son, O son ! to heav'n I would 

'Twere sooth as thou hast said ; 
But certes, Godfrey, thy hound's blood 

Was never half so red," 

" O Eady fair ! dispel your care, 

When I the truth shall tell ; 
This morning, as I chas'd a hare, 

JFull fast on Barrock Fell $ 
J3 e 2 



£1.2 THE FRATRICIDE. 

Ci My good grey mare she restive grew, 

Just as I made my start ; 
Enrag'd, my angry sword I drew 

And stabb'd her thro* the heart! 

" She was my father's favourite, aye, 

With care right costly toed ; 
But what will now Sir Prosper say, 

To find that she is dead ?" 

a O son, O son ! to heaven I would • 

'Twere sooth as thou hast said ; 
But certes, Godfrey, thy mare's blood 

Was never half so red, 

" O tell me, Godfrey, on thy word, 
Whence comes that dripping brand ? 

Why reeking yet appears thy sword, 
And whence that bloody hand ?" 

rc O mother dear, 'tis meet I should, 

(T' equivocate is vain -,) 
It is my brother Gilferd's blood, 

By me untimely slain !" 

u O say, when hell this purpose plann'd, 

What demon strew'd the strife, 
That thou should'st thus, with murd'ring hand 

Destroy thy brother's life ? 



TR£ FRATRICIDE. %{$ 

M Was it for this, all-gracious heav'n ! 

That I two sons have borne ? 
That children have to me been giv'n, 

To make me more forlorn ? 

se O sure it is a doleful day 7 

A doleful one to me ; 
That one should thus his brother slay, 

And hang'd himself must be !" 

" O mother, 'twas a bitter cause 
That urg'd this bitter deed ; 

That made me break thro* Nature's laws- 
Thai made my brother bleed ! 

" My Emma — she, my married wife. 

Whom I so dearly lov'd ; 
She, whom I valu'd more than life, 

Inconstant she has prov'd ! 

se But, oh ! the agonizing tale, 

It rends my heart anew ; 
And it but ekes unto my bale ? 

Her baseness to review, 

" Returning from the morning chace, 

The harlot did I see 
Within my brother's lewd embrace, 

AH-yielding as might be ! 



214 THE FRATRICIDE. 

" With anger, no one might assuage, 
To view such foul disgrace ; 

And mad with jealousy and rage, 
I rush'd unto the place. 

To punish their unseemly lust 

My sword in haste I drew, 
And, with one furious mortal thrust, 

Ran both their bodies thro* ! 

" Then from the fatal galling scene 

In haste did I recede, 
For common justice, as I ween, 

Will hunt me with all speed. 

" Oh ! but it is a bitter blow, 
And death were SAveet to me ; 

But that, alas ! if seiz'd, I know 
That death were on a tree ! 

11 And how would you, my mother deaiy 

Support the lasting shame ? 
Or how the public curses hear, 

Mix'd with thy Godfrey's name ? 

<c No ! to the Highlands I will hie> 

In solitude I'll mourn; 
Unpitied live — unheeded die — 

But never more return P' 



215 



THE PILGRIM. 






SLOW from the marsh the lowing kine, 
The barefoot herdsman homeward drove } 

Faint gleam'd, athwart the distant Frith* 
The sun* as day with darkness strove ; 

Sweet, from the steeple's summit grey, 
His ev'ning song the starling sung ; 

And homewards drawling to his task, 
With listless looks the school-boy slun 

When Lady Alice left her hall, 
Her bosom reiit with anxious care, 

And walk'd towards the babbling brook/ 
To breathe awhile the fresh'ning air. 

And, as she mournful mus'd along, 
The tears oft trickling from her eye, 

There slowly winding up the way, 
A weary palmer did she spy. 

All venerable was his mem, 

Tho' tatter'd were the weeds he wore, 
But fait 'ring seem'd his step, and slow. 

And as he went he sigh'd full sore, 



£16 TIi£ PILGRIM. 

" O Lady fair, some alms bestow, 

(The bending suppliant humbly said,) 

O Lady fair, some alms bestow, 
By heav'n the boon shall be repaid - y 

<( For I am fainting with fatigue 

And wand'ring thro* the live-long day ; 

And weak and feeble are my limbs -, 
Then have some pity, Lady, pray." 

" What are the alms that thou would'st ask ? 

What is the boon that thou wouldst crave P 
What I may properly bestow, 

That, pilgrim, freely shalt thou have," 

u I'd take a morsel of your bread, 

I'd take a little of your beer ; 
And, Lady, too, with your fair leave, 

I'd ask for one night's lodging here." 

" Most rev'rend friend, (fair Alice said,} 
Right welcome is what you request, 

And even longer, if you choose, 

May you remain and take your rest." 

" Thanks ! Lady fair, (the palmer cried,) 
Well guerdon'd may this goodjiess be > 

For, since I left fair Palestine, 
I have not seen such courtesy," 



t£e pilgrim. 217 

cc Say, father, (cried the courteous dame 
Impatiently,) and hast thou been 

Of late on Syria's fatal shores, 

Or there the Christian armies seen? 

" Lord Maurice, he for whom I sigh, 
With thousands there now risks his life ; 

His absence three long tedious years 
I've sadly wept, a widow'd wife ! 

<c Fain would I of my husband hear, 
That gen'rous Lord for whom I mourn *, 

Pain would I of his welfare know, 
But fainer still of his return." 

" Dry up your tears, good Lady fair, 

Yet happier days expect to see ; 
Dry up your tears, for know that I 

Have welcome tidings brought for thee. 

" Lord Maurice, him for whom you mourn ; 

Fair Lady, him full well I know ; 
Oft have I seen him in the camp, 

Oft seen him combat with the foe. 

(i His ceaseless fondness for his wife, 
Oft have I heard him»weeping tell \ 

But for thy consolation know, 
Lord Maurice is alive and well, 

3F y 



218 THE PILGRIM. , 

" Nor long, fair Lady, shall you weep, 
Thus, widow-like, your wasting charms, 

But very soon expect to hold 
Your long-lost husband in your arms.'* 

" Thanks, gentle pilgrim, for thy news \ 
In sooth, right welcome news to me j 

And, if my heart be light to-day, 
To-morrow thine shall lighter be. 

" But tell me, father, to what chance 
This strange intelligence you owe, 

Or that my Lord will come so soon, 

Pray tell me, stranger, how you know ?" 

u Tir'd with the unsuccessful war, 
And long delays, the Christian host, 

On board of their respective ships, 
Have left the hostile Syrian coast. 

ci Already in their various ports 
The English squadrons safely ride ; 

And soon, I ween, Lord Maurice will 
Be here, whatever should betide." 

" Now bast thou made my heart right glad # 
(Fair Alice to the palmer said,) 

And, in proportion to my joy, 
Thy welcome tale shall be repaid, 



THE PILGRIM. 219 

" Then turn thee, pilgrim, to the hall, 
There bathe and wash thy weary feet ; 

Thy journey's ended — and 'tis said, 
That labour makes repose more sweet/ 

And she has ta'en the palmer's arm, 

And kindly led him to the hall ; 
The change in fair Alicia's face £* 

Was notic'd by the servants all. 

And he has with the Lady sat, 

And there on costliest viands far'd ; 

And to repose his weary limbs, 
The softest couch has been prepar'd. 

The banquet done, the way-worn guest n 

A servant gently leads to bed, 
With pillows made of softest down* 

Whereon to rest his aching head. 

And Lady Alice, from the hall, f 

Has lightly to her chamber gone ; 
But restless thro' the live-long night, 

Or sleep or slumber found she none. 

But, as with watchful eye she lay, 
Her face towards the chamber door, 

She thought she saw Lord Maurice glide. 
All lightly arm'd, across the floor ! 
f f2 



220 THE PILGRIM. 

Her throbbing heart beat high with fear ; 

Chill horror checked life's circling tide ; 
But, ere she might for mercy call, 

The bursting doors flew open wide. 

Three ruffians enter'd, in whose looks 
Might well be seen their purpose foul ; 

Fair Alice mark'd their fell approach 
In all the agony of soul. 

As they advanc'd, she shriek'd aloud, 
Uncertain of her pending doom; 

When, lo ! from t'other side was seen 
The pilgrim rushing thro' the room ! 

" Hence, hell-hounds, fly! (he sternly cried,) 
And save your lives, ere 'tis too late, 

Nor this fair Lady's soft repose 
Thus impious dare to violate V ' 

cl Go to, thou silly palmer, go ! 

What brings thee here, old dotard, say? 
Get to thy crucifix and beads, 

Get to thy couch again, and pray!" 

" Get thou to hell ! (the palmer cried,) 
I'll teach thee to repent thy scorn; 

For, by the holy cross I swear ! 

Twere better thou hadst ne'er been born !" 



THE PILGRIM. %%\ 

So said — he graspM him by the side, 
The yielding flesh his fingers tore ; 

The tortur'd villain yell'd aloud, — 
His entrails fell upon the floor ! 

Then in his arms the next he seiz'd, 

And thro' the window dasrfd him strait 1 

Hurl'd like a thunder-bolt, he fell, 
And in the area finds his fate ! 

The third, who seem'd to be the chief, 

Affrighted, and surpris'd to view 
His comrades' fate, with kindling rage, 

In haste his threat'ning rapier drew. 

"Thou draw'stin vain, (the pilgrim cried,) 
That sword thy life but ill defends ; 

Give up thy weapon and thyself, 
Or here at once thy being ends i" 

Enrag'd, the villain onward press'd, 
With aspect fierce and ruffian mein ; 

The palmer strait his blade unsheath'd, 
Which hitherto he'd kept unseen. 

Then at the villain aim'd a blow, 
That armour vainly might resist; 

The guiltless sword forsook the hand, 
The sever'd hand forsook the wrist ! 



222 THE PILGRIM. 

At once confounded and dismay 'd, 
To be thus foifd in such a strife, 

The vanquish'd bravo on his knees, 
In suppliant terms now begs his life. 

€i Live, and be hang'd ! for that's thy fate, 
(The pilgrim knight all sternly said;) 

This failure has a bitter price 
For all thy former follies paid. 

" I heard your consultations base, 
In the next chamber where I lay ; 

Heard all your projects, and resolved 
Your wicked purposes to stay. 

u And you, fair Lady, should have been 

A victim to this villain's lust, 
Had I, your saviour, not been sent 

By Providence, all wise and just, 

" His brutal ends accomplished here, 
They meant to plunder next the hall; 

Then, any uproar to prevent, 
To massacre the servants all. 

" Get hence,base wretch ! and staunch thy blood j 
That hand shall steal, shall stab no more : 

Go to a convent, and repent 
Thy vices practis'd heretofore." 



THE PILGRIM. 22$ 

* God-like deliv'rer, (Alice said,) 

A boundless debt to you I owe, 
If, as I thought, 'twas great before, 

Tis certainly much greater now. 

<( But, stranger, tell, (the Lady said,) 

What is your mission — what your name ? 

All weak and weary with your way, 
Last night you to the castle came. 

6< And feebly went you to your bed, 
And sore of your fatigue complain'd ; 

And yet with very short repose 

Have you Herculean vigour gain'd." 

" If then, I must the truth declare, 
Let not my words renew your fear; 

As 'tis the love of you alone, 

Fair Lady, which has brought me here." 

Pale turn'd the lovely Lady's face, 
Her looks express'd a deep surprise ; 

And, as with speechless grief she sat, 
On him she fix'd her piteous eyes. 

Then off he cast his grisly beard, 

And weeds, wherewith he had been dress'd ; 
And, to the Lady's wond'ring view, 

The brays Lord Maurice stood confess'd! 



224 THE PILGRIM. 

" O my dear Lord !" (fair Alice cried,} 
'Twas all her tongue had pow'r to say - 9 

Too rapid far had been surprise, 

And on his breast she swoon'd away ! 

But soon the husband's tender care 

Restor'd the agitated wife ; 
And happy, as the story goes, 

Continued all their future life, 




ms 



FATAL OMENS, 



X WAS early on a summer morn, 

Eudolpha, lovely fair! 
Rose from her couch, and all alone 
Walk'd forth to take the air. 

Along the winding streamlet's side, 
That whimpled thro' the grove, 

The fair one walk'd, and sweetly sung 
The song of artless love. 

Her lay was like the linnet's strain, 

As tuneful and as sweet ; 
And, as she walk'd, the primrose seem'd 

To smile beneath her feet. 

Orlando was, the following morn, 

To take her for his bride, 
And softly did Eudolpha seem 

The ling'ring hours to chide. 

u Roll on, ye hours ! (the damsel said,) 

Nor thus my bliss delay : 
Roll on, ye tardy hours ! and bring 

The happy bridal day. 

G G 



226 FATAL OMENS. 

How painful to the anxious heart 

Procrastination proves; 
Nor better is that pain conceiv'd 

Than by the lass who loves. 

Yet still Eudolpha sweetly sung — 
" The wedding-day is near, 

Orlando is, I know, too true 
To leave me aught to fear." 

But, as she turn'd the mantling grove, 

An object met her eyes, 
Which, tho' she was in merry mood, 

Transfix'd her with surprise : — 

Betwixt her and the grey-ey'd east 
A female form she vievv'd ; 

But soon it vanish'd from her sight, 
Nor for a moment stood. 

The vestments which the phantom wore 
Were like the streams of light ; 

Her steps were soundless as the breath, 
Her looks were heav'nly bright. 

But tho' around the spectre's face 

Angelic radiance shone, 
Eudolpha well could recognise 

The features of her own. 



FATAL OMENS. 227 

" Now this is surely my own wraith, 

(The fearful damsel said,) 
But it is morning, sith I ween 

I need not be afraid." 



Yet, pale and pensive, to her home 

The fair Eudolpha hied ; 
Her song was ceas'd, her heart was sad, 

And now and then she sigh'd. 

And homeward as the heartless maid 

Her pensive course pursu'd, 
Four silent magpies o'er the way, 

Came flutt'ring thro' the wood. 

A hare, too, cross'd, from her left hand, 

The road with nimble pace, 
And, as the creature pass'd, it star'd 

The damsel in the face ! 

" What mean these boding signs, (she said,) 

Or what may this forebear ? 
A strange dejection weighs me down, 

And kills my heart with care. 

" What would my fearful fancy urge ? 

No, no ! it must not be :< — 
Orlando ! — O may heav'n forbid ! 

Mischance hath happen'd thee/' 
g g 2 



228 FATAL OMENS. 

Eudolpha reached her father's house, 

Orlando he was there, 
The pensive gloom forsook her face, 

Her heart forgot its care. 

His presence ev'ry fear dispels, 
His fondness calms her breast ; 

Again resumes the lovely maid — 
" To-morrow I am bless'd." 

Soon as the dusky ev'ning came, 

Orlando and the maid 
Again an amorous saunter took 

Along the woodland shade. 

The winds were hush'd, the sky serene, 

No zephyr shook the spray, 
No sound throughout the grove was heard 

But Philomela's lay. 

"When, feebly glimm'ring on the green, 

A light the lovers view, 
Which from the neighb'ring hamlet came, 

And to the church-yard drew. 

Hoarse croak'd the raven on the spire, 

The owlet rais'd her scream, 
Whilst slowly onward sped the light 

With faint but steady gleam. 



FATAL OMENS. 229 

Attendant with the twinkling ray 

No person either view'd ; 
But slow it skimm'd along the air, 

And o'er the church-yard stood. 

ie Ah, me! (Eudolpha sadly said,) 

Orlando, much I fear, 
Strange omens and most luckless signs 

This day I've witness'd here. 

" Good heavn ! in holy keeping have 

Both us and ours this night ! 
For much I dread some dire mischance 

Before to-morrow's light/' 

i{ Dispel those foolish fears, my love, 
(Orlando smiling said,) 
If virtue be of heav'n the care, 
Thou need'st not be afraid. 

" To-morrow, love, dost thou not know 

Our bridal is to be ? 
And sure thou know'st my heart too well* 

To question aught in me/ 

" O heav'n forbid ! (Eudolpha said,) 

A thought should e'er arise 
To question my Orlando's love, 

Which more than life I prize* 



230 FATAL OMENS, 

" But those repeated dire portents 
Have such impression made, 

That I, in spite of all my hopes, 
Must own myself afraid." 

When homeward o'er the dreary green 
Return'd the youthful pair, 

The fair Eudolpha's face still shew'd 
The marks of inward care. 

The damsel to her chamber hied, 
But rest she could not find, 

The recollection of the day 
By night engross'd her mind. 

Nor could Orlando's fondness aught 
Her gloom of mind dispel; 

Though ev'ry argument Avas tried 
Her lab 'ring fears to quell. 

At length the balmy hand of sleep 
Her weary e} T e-lids clos'd ; 

And for a while her troubled mind 
Appear'd to be composYL 

But soon the fearful fair one wakes, 
E'en sleep could give no rest ; 

For busy fancy kept alive 
The terrors of her breast, 



FATAL OMENS. 231 

With feeble ray the wat'ry moon 

Athwart her chamber shone - y 
Hoarse down the chimney blew the wind, 

With melancholy tone. 

With sleepless eye and fearful heart 

The wistful fair one lay, 
And v long impatiently she watch 'd 

The wish'd-for dawn of day. 

But as she look'd with anxious eyes, 

Eudolpha thought she spied 
A little old man, with aspect grim, 

Standing by her bedside ! 

Two cubits seem'd to be his height, 

As much arounc^ or more ; 
But of no common form was he ; — 

Decrepitude all o'er ! 

His face was of a mouldy hue, 

But menacing his mein, 
His looks were like the heath-brown bent, 

His eyes were grassy green. 

Eudolpha lay in sad affright, 

Her heart it beat full sore ; 
For such a foul-fac'd sprite as he 

She ne'er had seen before ! 



23S FATAL OMENS. 

a Eudolpha, thou shalt be my bride ? 

(The hideous spectre cried ;) 
Eudolpha, by to-morrow's night — 

Yes — thou shalt be my bride ! 

" I know that thou hast fondly hop'd, 
But vain those hopes shall be ; 

Expect not, howsoe'er it seem, 
Orlando's bride to be. 

" Tis true that thou hast fondly hop'd, 

But hope will oft deceive, 
That thou shalt be Orlando's bride; 

Gay Lady, ne'er believe. 

*' For know, that Destiny has doom'd 

That union ne'er shall be ; 
Eudolpha, by to-morrow's night 

Expect to sleep with me." 

But straightway crew theshrill-voic'd cock ? 

The frightful spectre fled; 
Eudolpha, pale and sick of heart, 

Lay trembling in her bed. 

At length the weary morning came, 

The woeful damsel rose, 
The secret burthen of her heart, 

Her fear full plainly shews. 



FATAL OMENS. %$$ 

fs What ails my love ? (Orlando said,) 

What makes her look so sad ? 
Methinks on such a morn as this 

She rather should be glad. 

<c For where's the maid, or far or near* 

Who, on her bridal day, 
Would not her lovliest looks assume, 

And study to be gay ?" 

ei Orlando, when the secret cause 

Of all, you come to know, 
Perhaps you'll cease to ask why thus> 

I wear a face of woe.'* 

Then to her listening lover she 

Her wond'rous tale hath told ; 
With added observations, drawn 

From instances of old. 

" T'indulge those fears, (Orlando said,) 

Is folly's worst extreme ; 
The little old man that you have seen 

Is nothing but a dream. 

" The rest are but old womens* tales, 

The whimsies of the weak ; 
Then, fair one, let the smile of hope 

Again adorn thy cheek, 

H H 



|34 FATAL OMENS. 

" Drive melancholy from your mind, 

For dang'rous is its use ; 
By it full oft imagin'd fears 

Will real ills produce. 

" Go to thy toilet, charmer, go, 

And let thy fears subside ; 
The virgin blush, the willing smile, 

Seem better in the bride." 

Eudolpha to her chamber went, 
Her friendly glass she took ; 

But, as she view'd her pallid cheek, 
Her hand convulsive shook ! 

Down fell the mirror to the floor, 

Which all in flinders flew ; 
And if her face was pale before, 

It now far paler grew ; 

When, lo ! she heard a hollow groan 
Behind the tap'stried wall ; 

And sharp and shrill a voice unknown 
Eudolpha's name did call ! 

The damsel dress'd herself with speed, 

And to the hall she hied, 
Where all the wedding-guests were sat, 

To compliment the bride. 



FATAL OMENS. %35 

But right forlorn the lady look'd, 

Tho' 'twas her bridal day ; 
And sad and cheerless was her heart, 

When others all were gay. 

At length they leave the spacious hall, 

And to the church repair ; 
Orlando, comeliest of the youths, 

And his Eudolpha fair. 

But, scarcely had he left the gate, 

When he cried out amain — 
u I have forgot the wedding-ring. 

And must return again !" 

Swift to the hall Orlando flew, 

And eke as swift return'd ; 
But she the ominous delay 

With inward bodings mourn'd. 

At length they came to the church-gate,, 

The ready priest was there ; 
Each face the smile of pleasure wore, 

Save her's, the pensive fair; 

For, wrapp'd in thought, she walk'd along f 

Nor once a side-look gave ; 
When, witless of her steps, she fell 

Into a new-made grave ! 

hh2 



%36 FATAL OMENS. 

All pale and speechless, from the tomb 
They rais'd the hapless maid ; 

And each, to soothe her heavy heart, 
Employ their friendly aid. 

But quite in vain the efforts prove 

Of lover, friends, and all ; 
The glow of pleasure to her cheeky 

No reason can recall. 

But to the altar on she went, 

Unconscious led along ; 
Nor minded she one object round, 

Nor notic'd aught the throng. 

The nuptial rite, with solemn air, 

The priest had just began, 
When loud and sudden scream'd the bride- 

" There comes the little old man !" 

With consternation all were seiz'd, 

Each heart with pity fill'd ; 
But, save the hapless bride alone, 

The spectre none beheld. 

Fast fled the roses from her cheek, 

The lustre left her eye ; 
Her lab'ring breast convulsive heav'd 

With many a heavy sigh. 



FATAL OMENS, 



337 



Then, with a loud and deadly groan, 
Which shew'd the conflict o'er ; 

She lifeless sunk upon the ground, 
Nor utter'd one word more ! 




238 



THE 



INFERNAL FERRYMAN. 



JL WAS midnight, when the busy host 

Of weary mortals take their rest, 
Save those by love or fortune cross'd, 
Or such as guilty fears infest. 

When on her downy couch reclin'd, 

Roxannah, lovely lady ! lay ; 
In sleep she fancied, 'midst the wind, 

She heard a voice thus loudly say : — 

" Roxannah, fair Roxannah /dear ! 

Roxannah, lovely lady ! rise ; 
For, whilst you thoughtless slumber here, 

Your husband in foul combat dies." 

The Lady rais'd a piteous scream — 

" What ! is my Lord Sir Turquil slain !" 

But, recollecting 'twas a dream, 
She laid her down, and slept again. 



THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN. 23Q 

But scarcely had she clos'd her eye, 

And turn'd herself again to rest, 
Before again, with plaintive cry, 

The voice the lady thus address'd :— » 

u Roxannah, fair Roxannah, dear ! 

Roxannah, lovely lady, rise ! 
For, whilst you thoughtless slumber here, 

Your husband in foul combat dies !" 

Amaz'd, the lady left her bed ; 

Again she listens all around ; 
But all is hush'd — the voice is fled ; 

Nor hears she now the slightest sound. 

w What means this call? (the lady cried,) 
What may this death-like summons be ? 

Why doth the messenger not bide 
And tell his embassy to me?" 

Again she turn'd to her repose, 

Address'd herself to sleep once more ; 

But scarce might she her eye-lids close, 
Till thus the voice, loud as before :— 

" Roxannah, fair Roxannah, dear ! 

Roxannah, lovely lady, rise ! 
For, whilst you thoughtless slumber here, 

Your husband in foul combat dies ! 



240 THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN, 

tl He and Lord Waltho, up the west, 
Have met by chance in yonder plain ; 

Each with the deadliest hate impressed, 
They fought, and both, alas ! are slain, 

" Near Edward's monument they lie, 
All pale and welt'ring in their gore ; 

No one at their dispute was by — 
Now, lady, sleep ; for all is o'er !" 

" Three times (the fair Roxannah said) 

I have been call'd — yea, three times three ; 

And much my bosom feels afraid ; 

For whence may this strange message be ? 

" What, tho' I'm told the combat's o'er, 
What, tho' I'm told to sleep away ; 

When they are welt'ring in their gore, 
Then lonsrer should Roxannah stay ? 

" No! I will raise my servants all, 
And quickly hie me to the place ; 

Too solemn is th' impressive call, 
To hope, uncertain is the case." 

Then from her couch the lady rose, 
All pale and horror-struck was she ; 

And she has huddled on her clothes 
With all the hurry that might be. 



THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN. &|l 

And she has rais'd her servants all, 
Tho* cold and piercing was the night ; : 

And they've together left the hall, 
To seek Sir Turquil by moonlight. 

And soon the fatal place they knew, 
With prying eyes they search around ; 

Nor look'd they long before they view- 
Two mangled bodies on the ground ! 

The lady smote her lovely breast, 

She wrung her hands,, and tore her hair; 

Her tender bosom seem'd distressed 
With all the anguish of despair. 

i{ Whence could proceed this mortal strife ? 

What cause produce this bitter woe ? 
What urge you on to loss of life ? 

Such friends so short a while ago ! 

" Oh! 't must have been a deadly cause 

Produc'd a consequence so dire ; 
And death has left an awful pause, 

Whence we may bootlessly enquire. 

" When you, Sir Turquil, left your home, 

And pensive posted out so late, 
Ah ! did I think that you had come 

So soon to meet so sad a fate !" 
i i 



542 THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN* 

Then from the baron's body cold 
She wip'd away the clotted gore ! 

Oh ! it was piteous to behold ; 
For over him she wept full sore_. 

Then tidings fair Roxannah sent 
To Winifred, Lord Waltho's wife, 

T'inform her of the sad event, 
Wherein her lord had lost his fife, 

And she has wept, ah ! well-a-day 1 
Until her beauteous eves were sore i 

But man nor woman heard her sav 
Who 'twas that she lamented for ; 

But she in secret made her wail, 

(And certes she was wond'rous sad,) 

Tho' now unheard her bitter bale, 
For reasons she most secret had. 

And they have brave Lord Waltho borne 
To Drumbough * Castle, sad and slow, 

Where numbers his misfortune mourn, 
For all that knew his worth were woe. 



* Drumbough Castle* at present the property of the Earl of Lonsdale, 
formerly belonged to the Lords Pacres* and was anciently a Roman station, 



THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN, 243 

Sir Turquil he to Brough was ta'en, 

Attended by his lady fair; 
But not by such a sorrowing train ; — 

Of pity he'd the smaller share. 

For he was ever haughty, proud, 

Was cruel, and was false beside, 
And all the country talk'd aloud 

Of his oppression and his pride. 

Roxannah had a dove-like rnein, 
She lov'd him as a duteous dame ; 

But by the world 'twas plainly seen 
His part to her was not the same. 

Yet was it wonderful to all. 
Who knew those barons heretofore, 

Such deadly dudgeon should befall 

The twain ; their hapless end much more. 

It chanc'd that on an ev'ning clear 

Roxannah went to Eden side ; 
She look'd around — no boat was near — 

The river it was deep and wide. 

And long she loudly call'd withal, 
And anxious saunter'd on the shore ; 

The echoing rocks return'd the call, 
Yet no one came to help her o'er, 
i i 2 



£44 THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN, 

At length, within a creek hard by, 

An aged ferryman she spied, 
She beckon'd him his oars to ply, 

Arid waft her to the other side. 

With feeble stroke he pulls the oar, 
And brings his wherry to the strand, 

To where Roxannah, by the shore, 
Doth for her passage anxious stand. 

The tott'ring bark Roxannah gains, 
The boatman heaves the dashing oar ; 

Increasing strength his arm obtains, 

And fast they leave the deep'ning shore, 

But furious roars the gathering gale, *■ 

And fiercely roars the foaming tide ; 

The boatman's vigour 'gins to fail, 
And danger stares on ev'ry side. 

* Pull on, good ferryman, pull on ! 

(With falt'ring voice the lady said ;) 
Exert yourself, or all is gone, 

For, trust me, I am sore afraid." 

But louder grew the blust'ring wind, 
And fiercer roll'd the furious flood ; 

The boatman he the oars resign'd — 
The vessel drifted where it would. 



^HE INFERNAL FERRTMAN, 24; 

Boxannah turn'd a deadly hue, 

Deep terror almost stopp'd her breath, 

For all around, within her view, 
Appear'd to threaten instant death. 

When, lot before her worjd'ring eyes^ 

The feeble ferryman no more, 
She saw Sir Turquil sternly rise, 

All hideous, and besmear'd with gore ! 

4S Roxannahj thou wert once my wife ! 

(With ans^ry frown the spectre said,) 
By thee I was belov'd in life, 

But canst thou love me now, when dead ? 

4C To-night, fair lady, thou shalt sleep 
In death's cold arms along with me ; 

Thy chambers are amidst the deep, 
Thy bridal bed is in the sea ! 

a Hark ! how they cry — Come, come along ! 

The water-spirits call for thee ! 
This, lady, is thy wedding-song, 

For thou, to-night, shalt sleep with me 

Just at that instant, from beneath, 
A group of frightful figures rose; 

Their forms were horrible as death, 
Roxannah's heart chill horror froze. 



i" 



546 THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN* 

Lord Waltho, 'midst the dreadful throng, 
Distinctly could the lady see ; 

Who cried—" Base Turquil, come along ! 
Hell only waits for such as thee J" 

Then fixing their infernal paws 

On him, — down, down the vessel fell ! 

The deep, with wide-extended jaws, 
Receives them, as they sink to hell I 

And loudly did the lady scream, 
As loudly for assi&tance call, 

As fast she sunk beneath the stream. 
Yet saviour saw sic none at all. 

J3ut when just ready to descend, 

Exhausted with the swallowing wave, 

She saw kind Mercy's arm extend, 

To snatch her from the op'ning grave ^ 

A fisherman, with hasty sweep, 

Row'd thro* the tempest, swiftly on, 

And drew her, breathless, from the deep, 
The instant she had else been gone. 

But scarce the t)oat had she attain'd, 
Ere silenc'd was the whirlwind's roar ; 

The stream its wonted calm regain'd, 
And peacefully they reach the shore, 



THE ItfFERtf AL FERRYMAN. *>4? 

*« Thanks to thy kindness and thy skill ; 

Thanks, gentle fisherman ! (said she,) 
At present I have but good will, 

Yet hence thou shalt rewarded be/'. 

" No recompense, sweet lady fair, 

I ask, and will accept of none ; 
But I a secret must declare, 

Which interests yourself alone. 

" Sir Turquil, he whom you have mourn'd, 

Was cruel, faithless, and unkind ! 
Your fondness he but ill returned, 

For fouler thoughts employed his mind* 

<€ He lov'd Lord Wal trio's wicked wife! 

She countenanc'd his base address ; 
The guilty passion cost his life, 

Nor cost the brave Lord Waltho less t 

<c Foul were the purposes which led 
Your husband, on that fatal night, 

To leave his lady, and his bed, 
And villain to commence outright 

" The wicked Winifred and he. 

Their commerce easier to enjoy, 
In dev'lish council did agree 

You and Lord Waltho to destroy 1 



248 THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN. 

" For him the poison'd bowl that night 
His trait'rous cons ort had prepar'd ; 

And you, by the returning light, 

A draught as deadly would have shar'd ! 

" But that Lord Waltho's trusty page, 
By chance o'erheard their foul intent; 

And, fill'd with horror and with rage, 
Directly to his master went 

"In haste Lord Waltho took his steed* 
Tho' late the hour, and wild the way, 

And posted off with fatal speed, 
And for the knight in ambush lay. 

" They met — the combat lasted long, 
For theirs was sure a mortal strife j 

And each was -brave — and each was strong* 
And each to each resign'd his life, 

i( Nor even ended here the hate 
Of base Sir Turquil, with his breath; 

For know, from your sad plight of late, 
Resentment lives e'en after death ! 

" But now, SirTurquil's shade no more, 
Malign howe'er his malice be, 

Shall torture thee as heretofore, 
For hence in endless ward is he. 



THE INFERNAL FERRYMAN. 249 

c But who art thou, (Roxannah said,) 
That know'st this wond'rous tale so well ? 

How was this information made 
To thee, good boatman, pry thee tell?" 

" Oft, lady, has that bounteous hand 

My frequent indigence supplied ; 
I am, Roxannah, as I stand, 

The anchorite of Eden side." 

fC That holy man, (the lady said,) 
Now sleeps in death ; this may not be I" 

She look'd the phantom soft was fled ! 

The boatman she no more could see ! 

Long after, as the legend says, 

Roxannah liv'd a widow'd life ; 
And saw, perhaps, more happy days, 

Than when she was Sir Turquil's wife. 

But Lady Winifred, false fair I 

She to a nunnery is gone ; 
Jn hopes, by penitence and prayV a 

Por former vices to atone. 



K K 



\50 



JESSICA, JOE, AND THE SOLDIER 



JL HE sun had just set in an ey'ning serene, 
And the sky was fast garbing in black, 
When Jessica tript o'er the ctew-moistfn'd green 
To look for her Joe, who at Gosport had been, 
And she now was expecting him back. 

For Joe, honest soul ! was a sailor as kind 

As e'er swigg'd of the heart-cheering bowl ; 
Tho' oft he'd been tost by the waves and the wind { 
Yet they ne'er had once ruffled the calm of his mind, 
And his Jessy he lov'd to his soul. 

But Joseph, poor lad, was not doomed to return, 
For the press-gang had grappled him fast; 
While Jessy was left his sad absence to mourn^ 
With anxious suspence in impatience to burn 5 
And he to the tender was pass'd. 

Soon the vessel unmoor'd, what a parting to view! 

■T would have melted the heart of a stone 1 
She constancy vow'd, beggd hex Joe to be true, 
Kiss'd, shook hands, blew her nose, bade a tender 
adieu ! 

Then homewards she hied all alone, 



JESSICA, JOE, AND THE SOLDIER. 251 

for five tedious years o'er the rough roaring main, 

Honest Joseph was banded, poor boy ! 
At length gentle peace call'd him homeward again, 
With his pouch full of shiners, his heart void of 
pain, 
And his cottage he sought full of joy. 



But say what surprise in his bosom must be, 

When, on suddenly op'ning the door, 
He saw his dear wife, all as brisk as a bee, 
-Singing sweet lullaby to a child on her knee, 
And a soldier was pacing the floor. 



The short interjection of humph ! 'seap'd his lips, 

Whilst he star'd with confusion around ; 
u Humph again! (said the wife;) you must blame 

your long trips, 
You should come sooner home, we can't say for 

odd slips; 
Come, Joe, take a chair, and sit down." 



Joe bluster'd awhile, call'd her base and unkind, 

Curs'd and storm'd, rent with rage and despair; 
Such treatment he never expected to find, 
Swore women were fickle, and false as the wind? 
Then calmly sank down in the chair, 
k k % 



252 JESSICA, JOE, AND THE SOLDIER, 

The soldier, in silence tho' hitherto pent, 

A sort of a parley propos'd ; 
He thought further mischief 'twould likely pre- 
vent, 
To which pliant Jessica gave her consent, 

And Joe with a treaty soon clos'd. 

'Tvvas there stipulated the sailor should be 

Paramount whilst on shore he remain'd ; 
But when he'd occasion to venture to sea, 
The soldier in turn then the landlord should bc^ 
And the brats be in common maintain'd. 

Thus many a brave hero, who ventures his life, 

From ease and each solace debarr'd, 
Oft needsthese gay laurels he gathers in strife, 
To cover the honours conferr'd by his wife, — 
Too often the warrior's reward. 







THE 



DEATH OF ORFIN. 



JrilGH upon the craggy steep, 
Orfin stood in pensive woe, 
Poring o'er the dinsome deep, 
Billowing on the beach below* 

Heedless of the deaf ning roar, 
He beheld the raging flood ; 

Fearless felt the rocky shore 
Shake beneath him as he stood. 

Loudly blew the western blast, 

Fast the cloud-fraught torrents fall, 

Quick the quiv'ring lightening pass'd; 
Oriin heedless bears it all. 

Like the opening glare of day, 

Anger sat upon his brow; 
Flaming like the pointed ray 

From his sparkling eyes below. 



$54 tfllE DEATH OF ORFIN, 

On his breast the beamy star, 

Wrought in gold and em'ralds bright,. 

Gaily glitter'd from afar, 

Like the streams of crystal light. 

O'er his back, in sullen pride, 

Broad his massy shield was slung; 

Whilst, suspended by his side, 
Loose his mighty Sabre hung. 

Oft had he its temper tried, 
Oft the foe its force had felt, 

Oft in blood had it been dy'd, 
And to hundreds death had dealt 

From its sheath, with sulien ire, 

Fierce the glittering glaive he drew \ 

Fierce he struck ,; the sparkling fire 
From the rocks effulgent flew 

ts Say, (he cried,) shall Orfin bear 
Thus to hear his lord defam'd? 

Or great Geon-ergon hear 
By his foes a coward nam'd? 

^Geon-ergon,* mighty king* 
Monarch of the hundred isles ; 

In whose court the graces spring, 

On whose reign kind heav'n still smiles= 



Geon-ergorij a husbandman. 



THE DEATH OF 0RF1K. £55 

" Shall he meanly bear the scorn 
Of the base-born tyrants round? 

Shall his provinces be torn, 
And he basely be uucrown'd? 

4( No ! while Orfin's arm can wield 
This fair sword, it ne'er shall be ; 

Brave Insulia* ne'er shall \ield 
Her proud empire of the sea." 

Like the black-wing'd storm that blows 

O'er the Arctic region drear, 
Orfin's indignation rose, 

As he rais'd the threat'ning spear. 

When, far o'er the tow'ring steep, 
He beheld with wond'ring eyes^ 

From the bosom of the deep, 
Fair Insulia's genius rise. 

Azure was her flowing robe, 

Dignity her aspect fill'd ; 
In one hand she bore a globe. 

Whilst her next a sceptre held. 

" Oifin, son of Birman \ hear! 

(Said the pow r;} my words attend; 
Brave Insulia needs thy spear, 
Geon-ergcn thou defend. 

* Froia Iwula, i Altered from Biruhan*. 



256 THE DEATH OP ORFJN. 

" Danger circles him around, 

Ruin threatens from afar ; 
Thou alone by heaven art found 

Worthy to support the war. 

" Carrol,* King of Ispan,f he, 

Leagued with neighbouring tyrants swore, 
That ere long his fleets should be 

Moor'd on fair Albania sj shore. 

" Fear not his imperious boast ; 

This he may repent too late ; 
Fear not for his mighty host — 

Little see they of their fate, 

cc Soon the renegado king, 

(Offspring of the rocky isle,) 
Shall to bondage Carrol bring, 

And his kingdoms shall despoih 

V Bid Albania's heroes rise, 

Bid Irenia's § sons be true : 
Nor Septentrion aid despise £ 

Victory is promised you ! 



* From Carolus. t From Hispan, or Hispaniola. 
From Albana, or Albion, § From Irenia, or Erie. 



THE DEATH OF ORFIN. %57 

£( For the mighty warriors call ; 

Let the deafning thunders roar; 
Soon shall Ispan's glory fall, 

E'en upon their native shore, 

"But, undaunted champion, know, 
That, amidst the bloody strife, 

E're half conquer'd be the foe, 
Orfin, thou must lose thy life ! 

" Let not this thy soul dismay, 
Yield not thou to puerile dread ; 

Deathless glory crowns the day, 
Paradise shall be thy bed. 

ci Is the sacrifice too great, 

Sets a virtuous nation free ? 
Orfin, know by this thy feat, 

Millions owe their lives to thee," 

Orfin heard the stern decree, 

But unmov'd he heard the whole ; 

Thousands 'twould have dash'd, but he 
Felt new ardour fire his soul ! 

With a more than mortal mien. 

Gracefully the hero bow'd ; 
While his countenance serene, 

Prov'd him of th' election proud, 
x L 



3.58 THE DEATH OF ORFIN. 

Soon Insulia's gallant fleet, 

Fraught with heroes, leaves the coast ; 
Not to wait for, but to meet, 

Carrol's pride and Ispan's boast 

Orfln, son of Berman, he, 

Foremost in the high command ; 

Leads his squadrons o'er the sea, 
To explore the hostile land. 

And, as from their native shore, 
Briskly ply the martial crew, 

Orfln, ne'er to see it more, 
Lingering looks a last adieu ! 

What, tho' certain of his doom, 
E'en without the hope of life ; 

Orfin shrinks not from the tomb, 
Eager for the glorious strife. 

Soon the hostile squadrons join, 
Soon for action they prepare ; 

Soon they form th' embattl'd line, 
And loud thunders shake the air. 

Death assumes his direst forms, 
Clad in smoke and mingling fire $ 

Devastation widely storms, 
With each burst whole heaps expire, 



THE DEATH OF ORFIN. %59 

Like a lion in the fight, 

Orfin rages far and near ; 
All his friends confess his might, 

All his foes are shook with fear. 

Orfin saw proud Ispan's boast, 
Ship by ship, inglorious yield ; 

Ev'n upon their native coast, 
Feebly struggling for the field. 

Half their power had been subdued, 

Half the victory was won, 
Yet the contest was pursued 

Fierce as when it first begun. 

Orfin thro* the thick'ning war 
Stood above his peers confest, 

Seen conspicuous from afar 
By the blazon on his breast. 

Ispan's warriors saw with grief 
All the feats of Berman's son ; 

Saw the crescent-crested chief, 
Had the hard-fought battle won. 

Stung with rage and mingling shame, 
Vengeance glistening in his eye, 

Argon took the deadly aim, 

" Orfin, (said the warrior,) die !" 



%60 THE DEATH OF ORFItf. 

To his breast the engine dire 
He the cruel Argon drew s 

Pinion'd by th* implusive fire, 
Fate's commission'd warrant flew. 

Orfin's breast the bullet found, 
Deep it pierc'd the hero's heart - 9 

Life, retiring from the wound, 
Seem'd impatient to depart. 

" I have done my duty here, 

(Faint th* expiring warrior cried,) 

Victory, I know is near!" — 

Saying — clos'd his eyes, and died. 

Pitying angels from the sky, 

When they saw the conflict cease - 3 

Snatch'd his spirit, and on high 
Bore it to the realms of peace. 




261 



THE VAMPYRE 



ARGUMENT. 



l^fiE story of the Vampyre is founded on an opinion or report which pre= 
vailed in Hungary, and several parts of Germany, towards the beginning 
of the last century : — It was then asserted, that, in several places, dead 
persons had been known to leave their graves, and, by night, to revisit the 
habitations of their friends; whom, by suckosity, they drained of their 
blood as they slept. The person thus phlebotomised was sure to become 
a Vampyre in their turn ; and if it had not been for a lucky thought of 
the clergy, who ingeniously recommended staking them in their graves, we 
should by this time have had a greater swarm of blood-suckers than we 
have at present, numerous as they are. Many and ingenious were the 
animadversions, both of the faculty and clergy, to adopt some probable 
reasons for the physical cause of such an uncommon phenomenon.— It 
was asserted that a portion of the animal spirits, not having escaped at 
the decease of the body, had retaineda power of volition; and, investing 
themselves with some part of the body which had not immediately yielded 
to putrefaction, they were thus enabled to make those prodigious excur- 
sions from the grave, and to return at pleasure, without any apparent in- 
convenience. Others were of opinion that these were a class of demons, 
who are supposed to be very numerous, who getting possession of any 
human excresences, rendered themselves partially corporeal, and perfectly- 
visible at pleasure. From some of our modern voyagers it appears, that 
the notion of the existence of Vampyres was very generally known an<2 
credited among the Dutch, and some other settlements in America. — I do 
not imagine that a thousandth part of the world are acquainted with the 
reason why thesecundine, immediately after the nativity of the foetus, is so 
carefully deflagrated by the obstetric and others, who preside at the ac- 
couchement. This was founded on the opinion that those numerous do- 
mestic demons, of whom they had such a perfect belief, were tenacious of 



%69, THE VAMPYRE. 

any opportunity that furnished them with a means of obtaining any por- 
tion of humanity, which they certainly preferred to any other animal 
substances. We may suppose that the umbellicum would make a very de- 
sirable jerkin for one of these gentry. Hence it ha9 been, that since they 
had such a desire to render themselves in part eorporeal and visible, as it 
pleased them, that when human excrescences were not easily obtainable, 
they were forced to repair to the common slaughter-houses, carrion heaps, 
&c. there to array themselves in such habiliments as chance threw in their 
way. From which we may infer the reason so many of our common 
apparitions have, per force, been compelled to appear in the forms of 
horses, cows, sheep, asses, dogs, cats. &c, &c. in fine, every sort of animal, 
so that many of these might, in fact, be said to be the ghosts of the ani- 
mals they represented, rather than of any particular person. 



WHY looks my lord so deadly pale? 
Why fades the crimson from his cheek ? 
What can my dearest husband ail ? 

Thy heartfelt cares, O Herman, speak ! 

u Why, at the silent hour of rest, 
Dost thou in sleep so sadly mourn ? 

Has tho' with heaviest griefs oppress'd, 
Griefs too distressful to be borne. 

« Why heaves thy breast ? — why throbs thy 
heart ? 

O speak ! and if there be relief, 
Thy Gertrude solace shall impart, 

If not, at least shall share thy grief* 



THE VAMPYRE. £63 

* Wan rs that cheek, which once the bloom 
Of manly beauty sparkling shew'd ; 

Dim are those eyes, in pensive gloom, 
That late with keenest lustre glow'd. 

" Say why, too, at the midnight hour, 
You sadly pant and tug for breath, 

As if some supernat'ral pow'r 

Were pulling you away to death? 

u Restless, tho' sleeping, still you groan, 
And with convulsive horror start ; 

O Herman ! to thy wife make known 
That grief which preys upon thy heart'* 

" O Gertrude ! how shall I relate 
Th' uncommon anguish that I feel ; 

Strange as severe is this my fate, — 
A fate I cannot long conceal. 

" In spite of all my wonted strength, 
Stern destiny has seal'd my doom; 

The dreadful malady at length 
Will drag me to the silent tomb !" 

jC But say, my Herman, what's the cause 
Of this distress, and all thy care, 

That, vulture-like, thy vitals gnaws, 
And galls thy bosom with despair ? 



M4 THE VAMPYRE. 

e( Sure this can be no common grief, 
Sure this can be no common pain ? 

Speak, if this world contain relief, 

That soon thy Gertrude shall obtain." 

" O Gertrude, 'tis a horrid cause, 
O Gertrude, 'tis unusual care, 

That, vulture-like, my vitals gnaws, 
And galls my bosom with despair. 

u Young Sigismund, my once dear-friend, 
But lately heresign'cl his breath; 

With others I did him attend 
Unto the silent house of death. 

€t For him I wept, for him I mourn'd, 
Paid all to friendship that was dues 

But sadly friendship is return'd, 
Thy Herman he must follow too ! 

" Must follow to the gloomy grave, 
In spite of human art or skill; 

No pow'r on earth my life can save, 
'Tis fate's unalterable will I 

" Young Sigismund, my once dear friend. 

But now my persecutor foul, 
Doth his malevolence extend 

E'en to the torture of my soul. 



THE VAMPYRE. £65 

(i By night, when, wrapt in soundest sleep, 

All mortals share a soft repose, 
My soul doth dreadful vigils keep, 

More keen than which hell scarcely knows. 

€( From the drear mansions of the tomb, 
From the low regions of the dead, 

The ghost of Sigismund doth roam, 
And dreadful haunts me in my bed ! 

f< There, vested in infernal guise, 
(By means to me not understood,) 

Close to my side the goblin lies, 
And drinks away my vital blood ! 

" Sucks from my veins the streaming life, 
And drains the fountain of my heart ! 

O Gertrude, Gertrude ! dearest wife ! 
Unutterable is my smart 

cc When surfeited, the goblin dire, 
With banqueting by suckled gore, 

Will to his sepulchre retire, 

Till night invites him forth once more. 

" Then will he dreadfully return, 

And from my veins life's juices drain; 

Whilst, slumb'ring, I with anguish mourn, 
And toss with agonizing pain ! 

M M 



266 THE VAMPYRE. 

€i Already I'm exhausted, spent % 

His carnival is nearly o'er, 
My soul with agony is rent, 

To-morrow I shall be no more \ 

u But, O my Gertrude ! dearest wife ! 

The keenest pangs hath last remain'd— 
When dead, I too shall seek thy life, 

Thy blood by Herman shall be drain'd ! 

" But to avoid this horrid fate, 
Soon as I'm dead and laid in earth, 

Drive thro' my corpse a jav'lin straight;— 
This shall prevent my coming forth. 

" O watch with me, this last sad night, 
Watch in your chamber here alone, 

But carefully conceal the light 
Until you hear my parting groan. 

" Then at what time the vesper-bell 
Of yonder convent shall be toll'd, 

That peal shall ring my passing knell, 
And Herman's body shall be cold ! 

u Then, and just then, thy lamp make bare, 
The starting ray, the bursting light, 

Shall from my side the goblin scare, 
And shew him visible to sight l" 



THE VAMPYRE. 267 

The live-long night poor Gertrude sate, 
Watch'd by her sleeping, dying lord ; 

The live-long night she mourn 'd his fate. 
The object whom her soul ador'd. 

Then at what time the vesper-bell 

Of yonder convent sadly toll'd, 
Then, then was peal'd his passing knell, 

The hapless Herman he was cold ! 

Just at that moment Gertrude drew 

From 'neath her cloke the hidden light ; 

When, dreadful ! she beheld in view 
The shade of Sigismund ! — sad sight! 

Indignant roll'd his ireful eyes, 

That gleam'd with wild horrific stare ; 

And fix'd a moment with surprise, 
Beheld aghast th' enlight'ning glare. 

His jaws cadaverous were besmear'd 
With clotted carnage o'er and o'er, 

And all his horrid whole appear'd 
Distent, and fill'd with human gore ! 

With hideous scowl the spectre fled - s 

She shriek'd aloud ; — then swoon'd away ! 

The hapless Herman in his bed, 
All pale, a lifeless body lay ! 
m m 2 



£68 THE VAMPYftE. 

Next day in council 'twas decreed, 
(Urg'd at the instance of the state,) 

That shudd'ring nature should be freed 
From pests like these ere 'twas too late, 

The choir then burst the fun'ral dome 
Where Sigismund was lately laid, 

And found him, tho' within the tomb, 
Still warm as life, and undecay'd. 

With blood his visage was distain'd, 
Ensanguin'd were his frightful eyes, 

Each sign of former life remain 'd, 
Save that all motionless he lies. 

The corpse of Herman they contrive 
To the same sepulchre to take, 

And thro' both carcases they drive, 
Deep in the earth, a -sharpen 'd stake! 

By this was finish'd their career, 
Thro' this no longer they can roam ; 

From them their friends have nought to fear, 
Both quiet keep the slumb'ring tomb. 




265 

A 

FAIRY TALE, 



IN days of yore, when (quoth romance) 

The fairy sprites were wont to dance 

Around the may- pole on the the green, 

With Oheron, and Mab their queen; 

Whilst on the slender mushroom's head, 

Their tiny banquet oft was spread, 

With pearly dew-drops for their drink, 

In acorn- cups up to the brink ; 

And pigmy knights, in armour bright 

Oft gambol 'd by the moon's pale light ; 

Strange was their pow'r, the pranks they pla}^d, 

With such as dar'd their haunts invade ; — 

With various forms themselves they'd please, 

And others could transform with ease ; 

Turn day to night, or night to day, 

Make black be white, or green be grey ; 

Could lengthen time, or make it short, 

Just as it suited with their sport ; 

Give to deformity each grace, 

And frightful turn the fairest face ; 



270 A FAIRY TALE. 

Oft have these playful wanton elves, 
Just purposely to please themselves. 
Slid thro' the key-hole of the door, 
When all within was thought secure ; 
Sly slipt the sleeping babe away 
And in its place a fairy lay ! 

Yet, tho' to mischief often prone, 
This did not busy them alone ; 
For oft the cleanly household maid, 
Their frequent bounties has repaid ; 
With rings of fair and brilliant hue, 
Or teasters left her in her shoe ; 
But if her house was filthy kept, 
They'd pinch the hussy as she slept : 
And by such warning teach the jade, 
That sluts were never better paid. 

'Twas in those days of fairy reign, 
Of which replete is Chaucer's strain, 
That, on a summer afternoon, 
A certain simple country loon 
By chance came whistling o'er the lee 
With heart as lightsome as might be. 
A load of oatmeal in a sack 
The bum kin bore upon his back ; 
And tho' both youthful, stout, and strong, 
Yet lazily he drawl'd along; 
And lilting an unmeaning air, 
Be tray 'd a heart devoid of care. 



A FAIRY TALE. £71 

When near the corner of a wood, 
By which a clay-built cottage stood, 
The sound of music struck his ears, 
Which pleas'd the gaping rustic hears, 
And, as he felt no mind for speed, 
He stood to hear whence might proceed 
Those sounds harmonious, which he swore 
Exceird whate er he'd heard before. 
Wheree'er he listens still 'tis plain 
The hovel must the choir contain ; 
Wherefore the boor at all adventures — - 
Sans ceremony — boldly enters, 
And at the door his station took, 
Intent to take a standing look ; 
Not to go further, save invited, 
For fear he might be ill requited, 
And his too curious prying folly 
A sequel find more melancholy ; 
For so impertinence, by right, 
Both men and fairies should requite y 
And nothing can be reckon'd ruder 
Than an unmanner'd bold intruder, 
Who'll frequently, 'thout invitation, 
Be meddling where he's no occasion. 
But scarce had he the threshold gain'd, 
When eyes and ears were entertain'd ; 
For, since he first beheld the light, 
He ne'er had seen a fairer sight 



272 A FAIRY TALE. 

A band of fairies heavn'ly fair, 
Array'd in green with neatest care, 
In youthful bloom, whilst ev'ry grace 
Adorn'd each pigmy elfin's face * 
And, as the music gaily play'd, 
A thousand antic springs they made ; 
Now here, now there, now high, now low, 
Now strangely quick, now gently slow ; 
Still as the minstrels chang'd, so they 
Their movements chang'd, and danc'd away. 
Whilst Hodge, with extasy unbounded, 
Gaz'd on with wonder quite confounded, 
But still suppos'd, so throng they'd been, 
His entrance they had never seen ; 
Nor had it ever struck his brain, 
That these were of the elfin train. 
But wrongly had the lout believ'd ; 
He from the first had been perceiv'd; 
For these were fairies, and may be 
Knew what he thought as well as he ; 
And cunning had he been, I ween, 
Had he stood there by them unseen. 
But that it seems 'twas their intent 
With him t'increase their merriment ; 
For they no seeming notice took, 
But let him peaceful keep his nook; 
Nem. con. determin'd that he should 
Stand there till doomsday, if he would; 



A FAIRY TALE. &?& 

Whilst they their gambols still pursu'd^ 
And he with equal pleasure view'd. 

But little wist he with the throng 
That he had saunter'd there so long ; 
For their gay pranks and music strains 
Had so bewitch'd the gawky 's brains, 
That it ne'er enter'd Hodge's head 
His family were wanting bread ; 
And that he should have posted back 
With that same flour he'd in his sack. 

At length, grown weary with his station, 
And sated quite with recreation, 
Once more the oafling with his load 
Slunk out, andhasten'd on the road; 
For 't must be known, that whilst he stopp'd 
His burthen he had never dropp'd, 
But, as a cursory beholder, 
Stood bending with it on his shoulder ; 
And, so well pleas'd the boor had been, 
With all he'd heard, with all he'd seen, 
That he suppos'd, amidst the sport, 
His dalliance there had been but short ; 
A quarter of an hour at most — 
But strangely he'd his reck'ning lost. 

Well ; homewards Hodge in haste now hies, 
But what strange objects meet his eyes ! 
Chang'd was the face of all around him; 
Indeed, sufficient to confound him, 

N N 



£74 A FAIRY TALK. 

For ev'ry now and then he'd meet 
Whole groupcs of strangers in the street ; 
And, gaze on either side he would, 
Long clusters of new buildings stood. 
In fine, the whole was so much changed, 
That he to all seem'd quite estrangd ; 
And scarcely could the bumkin keep 
From thinking that he was asleep : 
Indeed, what could he justly deem 
This wond'rous change less than a dream ? 
At length, with gazing, staring round, 
His well-known cottage haply found ; 
But louder here the uproar grew, 
Each one he met affrighted flew ! 
And cried, " Heav'n shield us from all evil ! 
That's Hodge's ghost, or else the devil !" 
u Zounds ! (quoth the boor,) what means this clatter 
Are all gone mad ! or what's the matter ? 
Why, here the people flee the road, 
And shun me as I were a toad ! 
Sure this must be some witch'd delusion, 
For all around me seems confusion ;— 
Or is it I, or they, or who, 
That are bewitch'd ? for I don't know. 
All things appear transform'd I view 
I'm certes metamorphos'd too !" 

At length, his Marg'ret, honest dame ! 
Rous'd by th' uncommon clamour, came ; 



A FAIRY TALE. 275 

But soon as she poor Hodge beheld, 

Her aspect seem'd with terror fill'd. 

She scream'd aloud, and back retreating, 

Endeavoured to avoid the meeting. 

But Hodge, enrag'd and quite perplex'd, 

And with these strange proceedings vex'd, 

Threw down his load, and, interposing, 

Stopt her as she the door was closing; 

And cried, "Fie, Margaret! what the devil 

Has made you all so curs'd uncivil? 

For young and old, I think, egad, 

Are, rich and poor, enmasse gone mad ! 

Why, wife ! this all seems wond'rous strange ; 

What witchcraft can have wrought this change? 

Why, I'm thy Hodge, Mag ! dost not know me ? 

Now don't be foolish — but come to me !" 

She shriek'd again, and faltering said, 
" This seven long years have you been dead! 
The fact I recollect too well, 
As all the neighbours round can tell." 
" Dead ! (exclaim'd Hodge,) why, what the curse 
Can all this mean; 'tis worse and worse I 
Why, sure you know 'twas but to-day 
That to the mill I took my way, 
To bring some meal in that there sack, 
Which I've just tumbled from my back; 
I'm sure I stopt not on the road, • 
Nor ever once set down my load, 

N N £ 



%T6 A TAIRS TALE. 

Save for a trice I stopt to view, 
In yonder cot, a merry crew ; 
Who, with their cap'rings and vagaries, 
Were frisking like so many fairies. 
And then they kept their tune so duly, 
Their music it was charming truly ; 
And, had yourself been there to see, 
You would have stopt as well as me ; 
For I protest, my dearest wife, 
I ne'er saw th' like on't in my life. 
But surely I ha'n't stopt so long 
That you should set up this war-song ? 
And all the town play hide and seek, 
As if I'd stopt away a week." 

" A week ! (quoth Marg'ret ;) by these tears, 
You have been dead these seven long years ! 
We know you once went to the mill, 
For ought we know, you are there still ; 
For since you first set out, good lack ! 
None e'er beheld you yet come back. 
And Uwas concluded all around 
That you d been murder'd, witch 'd, or drown'd; 
And as, alas ! you ne'er returned, 
For you one tedious year I mourn 'd, — 
For you the widow's weeds I wore, 
And patiently my sufferings bore ; 
And when Td thus a twelvemonth tarried 
Single for you, — again I married. 



A FAIRY TALE. S77 

And to my second spouse have brought 
Six chopping children, — who are thought 
To be as stout ones, and as viewly, 
As any in the village, truly ! 

' f Married again ! (quoth Hodge •,) adzooks, 
The woman's mad ! — Lord, how she looks ! 
She trembles too, and turns as white 
As if I were some hell-born sprite; 
For God's sake, Marg'ret, let me hold thee, 
And in these longing arms enfold thee!" 
She backwards reel'd, and, with a shriek, 
Swoon'd, — for she hadn't pow'r to speak. 

Some neighbours, bolder than the rest, 
Mov'd to behold her thus distrest, 
Resolv'd, as 'twas a work of merit, 
At least to parley with the spirit; 
For well they knew the worst and most 
That could be done by any ghost, 
Was only to a fix'd extent ; 
And this with ease they could prevent; 
For, should the fiend begin to riot, 
Him soon Mess John had pow'r to quiet 
So in a phalanx gath'ring round, 
With circles fortified their ground ; 
And, muttering o'er their pater-nosters* 
Slowly advanc'd in various postures. 
But Hodge, not waiting salutation, 
Thus spoke the trembling congregation : 



278 A FAIRY TALE, 

" Good neighbours, now, for God's sake ! say, 

What is your meaning ? tell me pray. 

Are you all mad, as you appear, 

Or are you but dispos'd to jeer 

And tamper me with ridicule, 

Because you think I am a fool?" 

" Stop there, good ghost ! (said one most gravely) 

No doubt we'll answer thee right bravely. 

But first, to answer us prepare, 

Quite rational our questions are ; 

Say why, now sev'n long years are past, 

Hath the cold grave releas'd at last 

Thy pent up spirit, thus to range 

To frighten us in form most strange, 

And carry terror and dismay 

Ev'n in the very face of day ? 

Ghosts were of yore, we know, permitted 

To roam at midnight, and have quitted 

Their sepulchres, and in those times 

Did penance for their former crimes : 

But when sevn years thou hast laid quiet, 

Now to come here and make a riot 

Is what we cannot understand, 

For which thy reasons we demand; 

Moreover, thus to fright thy wife, 

Who lov'd thee in thy nat'ral life 

As well as any woman could do, 

Is what no Christian spirit should do. 



A FAIRY TALE. <>79 

'Tis true, she has again got married ; 
But then she for a twelvemonth tarried -, 
Which seems a reasonable season, 
For any thing in common reason." 

Why, zounds ! (quoth Hodge,) dye all agree- 
To make a simpleton of me? 
Thus, proving what my ¥/ife hath said, 
Spite of my senses swear I'm dead ! 
I know I've oft been banter'd duly, 
But this is too egregious truly ; 
And, let me tell you, and my wife, 
I am not dead, upon my life !" 

" Not dead ! (exclaim'd the wond'ring train,) 
Then you must be bewitch 'd, 'tis plain. 
'Tis just sev'n years, this very day, 
Since to the mill you took your way ; 
And, from that moment to this hour, 
You never have been seen before ! 
Tis now quite evident, the crew 
You stepp'd into the cot to view, 
Who pleas 'd you so with their vagaries. 
Have been a set of spiteful fairies." 
" Nay, then, (quoth Hodge,) the thing's unriddl'd, 
For seven long years they danc'd and fiddl'd, 
And mine the folly, not the crime, 
Was looking at them all the time. 
I find I've been a stupid elf; — 
Now let me haste and hang myself." 



mo 



A FAIRY TALE, 



4< Just as you please for that," (quoth they :) 
But Hodge contriv'd another way ; — 
Disliking death and single life, 
Jie went and sought another wife. 




281 



THE SWORD. 



JF AIR shone the moon o'er Brougham's * 
towr's, 

And fair on Emmont's streams, 
And fair down Eden's fertile vale, 

Far shone its length'ning beams ; 

When Lady Eleanor arose, 

And listless left her bed; 
For peace her pillow had forsook, 

And slumber from her fled. 

And she has climb'd the highest tow'r* 
And traced the turrets round; 

And she has sigh'd, and she has wept, 
But ease has no where found. 



* Brougham Castle, which stands on the borders of Westmoreland, near 
the banks of the river Emmont, and about two miles from Penrith, is a 
place with whose history I am perfectly unacquainted; only that 1 know at 
present it is one of the most spacious— -and perhaps one of the most magnifi* 
cent— ruics in the North of England. 

O O 



^82 THE SWORD, 

u Ah, me ! (she said,) was e'er before 

So sad forlorn a wife, 
For tho' I am Lord Herbert's spouse, 

I lead a widow'd life. 



" Twelve tedious months are past and gone 

Since last he left these arms ; 
O'er distant shores he wins afar, 

'Midst danger and alarms. 

" Ye gentle gales, that round me blow. 

Augmented by my sighs ; 
Oh gently waft him home again 

To cheer these longing eyes. 

u For here, with anxious sad distress, 

My nights are pass'd away ; 
And cheerless solitude and grief 

Attend me thro' the day. 

" But, if the morning dawn were come, 

Full quickly would I ride 
To the weird woman, where she dwells 

Close by the Black Fell * side. 



• Part of a chain of mountains running on the East of Cumberland. 



THE SWORD. 28? 

" There with her will I counsel take, 

Her forecast's fam'd on far, 
To know when he Lord Herbert shall 

Forsake the cruel war." 

Lord Herbert he on Syria's shores, 

With martial squadrons sped, 
With princely Edward to the fight 

The Christian forces led. 

Much by his prince approv'd was he, 

Much by his peers renown'd ; 
For, thro' the host of Christian knights, 

A braver was not found. 

Destruction follow'd where he led, 

And mark'd his furious course ; 
Nor could the Saracen's whole powV 

Check his resistless force. 

Up with the light rose Eleanor ; 

She's ta'en the swiftest steed, 
And quickly she to Black Fell side 

Has posted with all speed. 

And soon she's gain'd the fated place, 

And soon an entrance found ; 
And the weird woman soon has met ; 

For forecast far renown'd. 
P o £ 



284 THE SWORD. 

<f O lady, say, (the beldam cried,) 
What brings you here so soon ?" 

" I come, (dame Eleanor replied,) 
From you to beg a boon ; 

" Which you must grant ere I depart. 

Or else must go with me ; 
And as your bodings shall betide, 

So shall your guerdon be." 

" What wouldst thou have, sweet lady fair? 

What wouldst thou understand ? 
For, be assured, what I can do 

Thou freely may'st command." 

u My husband, brave Lord Herbert, he 

Now wins on Syria's plains ; 
Fain would I know his plight, and how 

This warfare he sustains." 

, H Then back to Brougham you must hie, 

(Replied the wither'd crone,) 
And all that you would learn, shall there 
To you be fully known. 

" Spur on your palfrey with all speed, 

Nor stop, nor make delay ; 
I shall be there as soon as you, 

So, lady, post away." 



THE SWORD. £85 

Now Lady Eleanor, thus warn'd, 
Has homeward turn'd her steed ; 

O'er hiil and dale, o'er bog and bourne, 
To Brougham with all speed. 

And when she pass'd the castle-moat. 

Who readier was to wait 
Than the weird woman of Black Fell side, 

All at the castle-gate ! 

And she has lighted from her steeds 

And enter'*! by the hall ; 
And she has to the chamber pass'd* 

The sybil too withaL 

And she has bolted fast the door 

All with a silver pin," 
That none without might hear or see ? 

And no one might come in, 

a And now Til tell thee, lady fair, 

(The caitiff said with speed,) 
What things must first be done, ere we 

Can with our spell proceed. 

H And first, with vinegar and meal 

Yourself must knead a cake, 
Which on the embers must be laid. 

That it may slowly bake. 



286 THE SWORI). 

<c Then hie to some south-running stream, 

Of no man ask you leave, 
But take your shift, and in the brook 

There wash well the left sleeve. * 

6C Then haste you back, and hang the same 

Before the fire to dry ; 
What of the process yet remains, 

We'll finish by and by. 

" Wait till the castle-bell, strikes One, 

Nor dash'ci nor daunted be, 
For be assur'd that at that hour 

Lord Herbert you shall see !" 

Slow wind their way the tedious hours, 
Slow pass'd the parting day ; 

And anxious grew Dame Eleanor 
At midnight's tardy stay. 

The magic cake, the new-wash'd shift, 

Were both before the fire ; 
Whilst the weird woman mutt'ring sat 

Her incantations dire. 



* See Burn's "Hallo EW* 



THE SWORD. 287 

At length the castle-bell toll'd One ! 

The stately mansion shook ; 
The doors were burst ! — Lord Herbert stood 

With stern revengeful look. 

In arms accoutred cap-a-pee, 
With sword and buckler bright ; 

And gaily harness'd, as became 
A gallant Christian knight 

And he has ta'en and turned the cake, 

That on the embers burn'd, 
And eke the shift before the hearth 

As carefully has turn'd. 

Then up and crew the shrill- voic'd cock, 

The sable and the grey, 
Lord Herbert rush'd forth from the hall, 

Nor longer might he stay, 

But, as with hasty stride he flew 

Forth at the chamber-door, 
Lord Herbert in his hurry dropp'd 

His sword upon the floor. 

And sythe was heard a hollow groan, 

And eke a mournful sigh ; . 
The lady she took up the sword, 

And careful put it by. 



£88 THE SWQRD. 

But sadly sank the lady's heart 
Now that the shade was gonej 

And sadly seem'd she to repent 
The deed that she had done. 

Two lingering, anxious, irksome years 
A Avidow'd bride she mourn'd ; 

At length Lord Herbert with the Prince 
And England's pow'rs retum'd. 

Straight to the hall the baron flew, 

Nor made he stop or stay ; 
And Lady Eleanor, I ween, 

Was joyful on that day. 

The costliest banquet was prepar'd, 
The minstrels shook the hall, 

The copious bowl was push'd around* 
And mirth pervaded all. 

For all to see the Lord's return, 
Expressed unfeign'd delight, 

Whilst he resolv'd that ev'ry heart 
Should feel no care that night. 

It ehanc'd that on a future day 
Lord Herbert ranging round 

The various chambers of the dome # 
His sword, ill-fated, found ! 



THE SWORD. 289 

With horror he the weapon view'd/ 

With rage and wild surprise ; 
For well he knew the luckless blade, 

Yet scarce could trust his eyes. 

But swift he from the chamber hies, 

The faulchion in his hand, 
And of fair Lady Eleanor 

Thus sternly does demand : 

" Where got'st thou that fair sword, lady? 

Now tell me, on th}' word ; 
From what young knight, or warrior wight, 

Dame, got'st thou that fair sword ?" 

/f Why sternly dost thou thus enquire, 

Lord Herbert, this from me ? 
Within your armoury, good sooth, 

Great store of swords there be. 

" Swords are not things for womens' use) 

Then why this question, say? 
You look most angrily, my lord, 

What is the reason, pray ?" 

" Where got'st thou that fair sword, lady? 

Now tell me, on thy word ; 
From what young knight, or warrior wight, 

Dame, got'st thou that fair sword?" 
p p 



290 THE SWORE). 

" My lord, if I must say the truths 

And tell you, on my word, 
I almost durst be bound to swear 

It is my father's sword." 

u No, no ! 'tis not Lord Osrick'a sword, 

I know that blade too well; 
Thou shalt not thus prevaricate, 

But truth be forc'd to tell. 

u Doth it become Lord Herbert's wife 

To tamper him with lies ? 
Or doth it suit Lord Herbert's wife 

His menace to despise ? 

u Where got'st thou that fair sword, lady ? 

Now tell me, on thy word - y 
From what young knight, or warrior wight, 

Dame, got'st thou that fair sword ?V 

Then down upon her bended knees 

Dame Eleanor did fall ; 
And, barring parley or disguise, 

The lady told him all. 

And loud did she for mercy call, 
And smote her breast full sore ;, 

Urg'd female curiosity, 
But her affection more. 



THE SWORD. 291 

* Wretch that thou art ! (Lord Herbert said,) 
I knew the sword was mine ! 

Death is too slight a punishment 
For such a fault as thine : 

4t When press/'d by much superior force, 

And sinkiiig midst the fight, 
You from my body tore my soul, 

To glut your foolish sight ! 

* By witchcraft too ! — detested thought ! 
Unpardon'd is the deed ! 

Mercy could not extend to thee, 
Tho' angels' tongues should plead. 

" Not all the torments hell contains, 

That most the damn VI dismay, 
Can parallel the pangs I felt 

On that unhappy day ! 

cc Whirl 'd like a thunderbolt along, 

O'er ocean, earth, and air, 
O'er craggy steeps, and bri'ry breaks, 

To rest I knew not where. 

" Whilst all the time my body lay 

On earth, devoid of breath ! 
And all around the battle press'd, 

And threaten'd certain death, 
p p 2 



292 THE SWORD. 

" 'Twas there, on first recov'ring life, 
I vow'd, on knightly word, 

That they should surely lose their lives 
With whom I found the sword ! 

" And should I break my plighted oath ? 

Myself thus doubly curse ? 
When, on some future day, perhaps, 

Thy spells might use me worse. 

u No, 'tis resolv'd — thy doom is passed ! 

No suit can e'er succeed ; 
Revenge impels me to the act, 

Nor justice blames the deed. 

"Then die !" — so said, the fatal blade 
Deep-pierc'd the shrieking wife ! 

She fell ! — and at her husband's feet 
Surrender'd up her life ! 




293 



THE 



EARTH KING, 



ARISE, Lord Aymer, arm with speed, 
Thy countryjoth thy aid demand ; 
The hostile Scots have passM the Tweed, 
And ravage fair Northumberland ." 

" Whence com'st thou, haughty herald, say, 
With thy proud messages to me? 

Such mandates I can ne'er obey, 
Whoe'er the summoner may be. 

" What tho' all Scotland be in arms, 
Tho' Douglas marshal out the waj% 

And shake the borders with alarms, 
Need I to mingle in the fray ? 

ts In this embattled tower secure, 
I mock the siege — assault defy ; 

The length 'ning war I can endure, 
Unreached by its calamity. 



294 THE EARTH KING. 

" Then hence, proud herald ! haste, return I 
And say to him that sent thee here, 

That I the idle summons spurn, 
Nor aught his future anger fear." 

ei Arise, Lord Aymer, arm with speed ! 

Thy country doth thy aid demand; 
The hostile Scots have pass'd the Tweed, 

And ravage fair Northumberland ! 

" 'Tis the great Bolingbroke that sends, 
By me, this message from afar; 

For he hath summon'd all his friends 
To aid him in the cruel war," 

" This answer to thy master bring: 
That I too long have borne his yoke ; 

And tell proud Henry, faithless king ! 
My fealty I here revoke. 

" Is not the flower of all the land, 
The fair, the gallant Hotspur slain? 

He was my liege ! — and, by this hand, 
I ne'er am Henry's friend again ! 

" Tho' all the pow "rs of Scotland rise, 

With Denmark and with Norway join'd ; 

Yet know, the mandate I despise 
Of princes faithless and unkind I 



THE EARTH KING. £95 

iC Once more tell Bolingbroke from me, 

That all allegiance I forego ; 
And, whatsoe'er his fortunes be, 

Lord Aymer is henceforth his foe !" 

iC Arise, Lord Aymer, arm with speed! 

Thy country doth thy aid demand ; 
The hostile Scots have pass'd the Tweed, 

And ravage fair Northumberland. 

" Three times, Lord Aymer, have I said 
Arise, and arm thy pow'rs with speed -;.-'. 

Three times the legal summons .made,, ti to ?-" 
And yet thou luckless tak'st no heed. 

" It is great Bolingbroke's command — 
Great Bolingbroke thy rightful lord ! 

Then why thus foolishly withstand 
A mighty monarch's sovereign word?" 

i( If he, the king of all the earth, 

Should bid me arm on this pretence, 

I would not lead my people forth 
To fight in Bolingbroke's defence ! 

" Then get thee home, proud herald, go 
And tell thy king my firm intent ; 

That service I do others owe, 

Which once to him was onlv meant." 



$96 the earth king. 

The messenger departed straight 

To Henry's court, the news to brino- ; 

Where he doth faithfully relate 
Lord Aymer's answer to the kins'. 

i( Now, foul befall the traitor vile J 
(King Henry said,) it grieves me sore ; 

By Grace ! 'tis but a little while, 
And he, Lord Aymer, is no more !" 

Lord Aymer with the twilight rose, 
And listless left his weary bed; 

For there he might not find repose, 
The herald's words so fill'd his head. 

Full well King Henry's pow'r he knew, 
As well he knew his deadly rage ; 

That where it menac'd to pursue, 
No motive could its force assuage. 

He's ta'en a charger from the stall,. 

Caparison'd all gaily bright ; 
And he has pass'd the outer hall 

Before the morning it was light. 

Along the winding banks of Tyne 
He onward sped his w^istless way ,* 

" What means this boding heart of mine? 
What means this heaviness to-day ?" 



tH£ HAtlTfl KIN&. 297 

And he's look'd east, and he's look'd west, 
And he's look'd o'er the forest green, 

And he's o'er moss and moorland press'd, 
But man nor woman has he seen ; 

Till turning near the mountain's side, 
Lord Aymer saw, with fix'd surprise, 

A yawning cavern open wide, 

And from the gulph strange figures rise ! 

High on a splendid chariot rais'd, 
One sat that like a monarch seem'd, 

Around him fulgent meteors blaz'd, 
And from his eyes th* light'ning beam'd. 

Volcanic vapours from his maw 

He blew with pestilential breath : 
Lord Aymer stood transfix'd with awe, 

Expectant of immediate death. 

His head was of the jasper bright, 

His temples glist'ning to behold, 
His ruby eyes shone like the light, 

His locks were like the threads of gold. 

His beard was like the sparkling glass, 
An iron strength his neck confess'd; 

His arms and shoulders were of brass, 
And polish'd marble was his breast 



$8 THE EARTH KING. 

His legs and thighs, of giant size, 
A strange amalgama display'd; 

His ample hands, and feet likewise, 
Of hardest, brightest steel were made ! 

A mantle of asbestos bright 

Was o'er his ample shoulders flung ; 

While pendant, flashing like the light, 
Close to his side the faulchion hung. 

A groupe of spectres by his side 
Attended, but with various mien ; 

Some bore their crests with haughty pride,* 
Some, writh'd with agony, are seen. 

Lord Aymer stood with deadly fright, 
His heart a thousand horrors fill'd ; 

For sure so wonderful a sight, 

His eyes, till now, had ne'er beheld. 

When onward whirling with his car, 
That shook the earth, the spectre said, 

With voice harsh bellowing from afar, 
" Lord Aymer need not be dismay *d \ 

" Full well I know thy haughty soul, 
Full well I know thy manly pride, 

That scorns all human base controul, 
And hath all earth-born powV defied. 



THE EARTH KIN©- 299 

f< Know, I am King of all the Earth ; 

Nay, more, my empire is the sea ! 
Yet have I purposely rode forth, 

Lord Aymer, to confer with thee. 

" What is proud Bolingbroke, that he, 

Usurper-like, thus lifts his hand, 
To think that noble souls like thee 

Would basely crouch at his command ? 

* f Are not both he and all the rest 
Of monarchs, that o'er mortals sway. 

Mere vassals to my high behest, 
And bound my summons to obey? 

" What are the most illustrious kings?—- 

Ephemerons but of an hour ! 
Mere reptiles ! — momentary things! 

All tributary to my pow'r. 

" Since time commenc'd, my throne has stood | 

Uninterrupted been my reign ; 
No bold insurgent e'er thought good, 

As yet, to grasp at my domain, 

Sl Millions of millions, at my call 
Obedient, my commands attend ! 

Ev'n mightiest princes prostrate fall 
When I the mightier summons send ! 
QQ2 



300 THE EARTH KINO, 



<e 



And yet throughout my vast domain 
No mal-con tented traitors be ; 
No factions shake my peaceful reign, 
No subject wishes to be free ! 

<c But here equality prevails, 

Such as no other state can boast, 

And birth or title nought avails, 
Where ev'n distinction's self is lost. 

" Then come, Lord Aymer, come with me, 
The wonders of my realm survey ; 

I pledge myself no harm to thee 
Shall happen in the devious way* 

ie What tho' destructive seems my breath, 
Tho' lightnings in my eyes appear, 

Tho ? trembling mortals call me Death, 
Lord Aymer, thou hast nought to fear. 

" Ne'er damp thy manly fire with dread, 
Ne'er fill thy bosom with alarm ; 

For know that, whilst thou hast a head, 
Thou'rt perfectly secure from harm," 

So said — high on the lofty seat, 

The Earth King he Lord Aymer plac'd % 

And, as the pinion'd light'ning fleet, 
Their journey subterine retrac'd. 



THE EARTH KING. 301 

Swift as the air, the eagle's wing, 
Or driving hark the billow cleaves, 

So yields the earth to the Earth King, 
And wide an easy entrance leaves. 

Earth's inmost secrets lay disclos'd, 
The sparkling gem, the ponderous ore, 

A thousand splendours fair expos'd 
To mortal ken, unknown before. 

Here mighty caverns, long conceal'd, 
Of gnomes and demons' drear abodes, 

Are to Lord Aymer now reveal'd, 
With all the world of antipodes, 

Extensive regions, deep and drear, 
With 'habitants as strange, they view, 

By mortals never thought of here, 

Whose names geographers ne'er knew. 

Here the vast fountains of the deep 

Elab'rate from the centre play ; 
And, like the heart, their motions keep 

Of flux and reflux night and day. 

There from the inmost depths of hell 
The dire volcanic furnace gleams, 

Where suffring fiends for ever yell 
In liquid flames and burning streams, 



50£ THE EARTH KING, 

At length the central dome they gain, 

Where his vast court the Earth King held ; 

But who those wonders can explain, 
Which all description far excell'd ? 

The dome was concave, like a sphere,, 
The sheil of adamant was made ; 

And what to mortals happens here, 
Was there most perfectly display'd* 

u Behold my ministers around 

(The monarch said) obedient stand ; 

See how in rev'rence profound 

They wait to do my high command, 

" They various offices perform : 

One hurls the lightning thro' the air ;- 

One manages the billowing storm, 
And scatters ruin and despair* 

u A third the inundation tends, 
Directs the deluge in its sweep, 

Or from its base the mountain rends, 
And hurls it headlong to the deep I 

u The earthquakes are another's care. 
The world convulses in his hand ; 

Whilst some the pestilence prepare, 
And breathe destruction o'er the land ? 



THE EARTH KING. SOS 

u There Famine sits with meagre face* 
With Luxury, who more destroys 

Than all the rest of mortal race, 
As he more winning arts employs," 

" Here all the ills (Lord Aymer cried) 
I've seen, that thro' creation rage ; 

Save one, I think I have not spied, 
A far fam'd evil, call'd Old Age," 

* e Old Age (the King of Terrors said) 

Has lately on an errand been ; 
But, so diminish'd is his trade, 

He's very seldom to be seen. 

'* There was a time when A^e alone 

Was the supporter of my realm; 
But now he is but little known 

Since Luxury has ta'en the helm." 

u But what are those (Lord Aymer said} 
That toil so hard behind that screen - s 

They are conceal'd, as tho' their trade 
Was secret, and might not be seen." 

" Those are the Destinies, (said he) 
The Fates that rule the outer world, 

Their labours may no mortal see 
Till I the curtain first have furl'd." 



304 THE EARTH KING. 

* But listen ! (said the splendent king,) 
Hark to the Sisters there within ; 

Hark to the chorus that they sing,— 
It is the thread of life they spin, 

<c Thrice hail to thee, Lord Aymer, hail ! 

Well hast thou on thy journey sped; 
No pow'r against thee shall prevail 

So long as thou shalt wear thy head." 

" What mean you by your mystic song ? 

You speak equivocal and vain ; 
That may be short, or may be long; 

Therefore your promises explain." 

" Arise, Lord Aymer ! arm with speed, 
Thy own occasions most demand ; 

Arise ! and haste beyond the Tweed, 
Nor linger in Northumberland." 

Swift as an eagle thro' the air, 

The Earth King has Lord Aymer ta'en 
Unto the place they met, and there 

Has brought and set him down again. 

But ; ah ! how deadly pale he grew ; 

His body shook, cold ran his blood ; 
He'd seen the Earth King, and he knew 

The meeting boded him no good. 



THE EARTH KING. SOS 

And he has spurr'd his mettled steed, 
And homeward to his castle sped, 

And he has said his pray'rs and creed, 
And heart-sick has he sought his bed, 

" Why looks my noble lord so pale ? 

(Said Lady Agnes,) well-a-day! 
What can the brave Lord Aymer ail, 

Or what disturbs thy spirit, say ?" 

'* Ah ! lady, I am sick with woe, 

Sunk is my heart — cold runs my blood ! 

I've seen the Earth King, and I know 
The meeting bodes to me no good." 

All-night he tumbled in his bed, 

His pillow lent him no repose; 
The Earth King still ran in his head, 

And early in the dawn he rose. 

Fair mounted on his gelding grey, 
Lord Aymer wends to take the air, 

To try among the woodlands gay, 
By exercise, to banish care. 

But as across the verdant sward. 

With ruthless course he rang'd along, 

Stilt in his ears he thought he heard 
The fatal Sisters* mystic song. 

R R 



306 THE EARTH KING. 

And as he rode athwart the hill, 

There four dumb magpies left the wood ; 

And as he went across the rill, 

His nose gush'd out three drops of blood. 

And he's look'd east, and he's look'd west, 
And he's look'd o'er the forest green ; 

And he's thro' moss and moorland press'd, 
But man nor woman hath he seen; 

Till turning near the mountain side, 
"Where the Earth King before met he, 

A troop of horsemen he espied 
Come riding furious o'er the lee. 

" Yield thee ! Lord Aymer, (one exclaim'd ;) 
Yield thee, proud lord, or thou art dead ! 

For foulest treason art thou blam'd, 
And forfeit is, by law, thy head !" 

Lord Aymer's face grew deadly pale; 

He thought on what the Sisters said 3 
" No pow'r against thee shall prevail 

So long as thou shaltwear thy head ■!" 

" O gentle guards, a moment stay, 

Attend me to my castle-door, 
To bid my lady one good-day, 

Ere I depart for evermore." 



THE EARTH KING. 307 

And they have taen him to the hall, 
Where was a melting sight to view 3 

His lady, children, servants, all 
A weeping out their sad adieu ! 

" Ah, woe is me! (Dame Agnes cried,) 
That I should live to see this day j 

Should live to see Northumbrian pride 
To death thus basely dragg'd away !" 

Lord Aymer he was sick with grief, 
Affliction's tears bedew'd his cheek ; 

But how should he bestow relief 
Whose heart itself was like to break? 

At length they leave this scene of woe, 
And for their journey all prepare; 

The cavalcade, all sadly slow, 
Lord Aymer guards with watchful care« 

And as the troops, with pitying sighs, 
Slow down the hill all mournful wind, 

Lord Aymer he, with streaming eyes, 
Cast many a lingering look behind. 

u Farewell, ye scenes of past delight ! 

This separation wounds me sore; 
No more your charms shall glad my sight,— 

Farewell ! I ne'er shall see you more i'* 
rr g 



SOS THE EARTH KINO* 

And as thro* ev'ry town they pass, 
The tears they fell from many an eye ; 

The people cried — u What pity 'twas 
So fair a lord should basely die IV 

As near to London town they draw, 
With fear Lord Aymer's body shook. 

But when the fatal block he saw, 
All fortitude his soul forsook. 

There, with infernal splendour dress'd, 
The fierce Earth King once more beheld; 

The object quite unmann'd his breast, 
And all his soul with horror filFd. 

4i Lord Aymer, thou shalt lodge with me 
This night ! (the hideous spectre said;) 

The song the Sisters sung to thee, 

Taught thee no caution for thy head I" 

He basely to the block was led ; 

The pensive crowd was standing by ; 
A solemn gloom the whole o erspread, 

And tears were shed from many an eye ! 

The fatal axe is raised on high, 

The blow unerring swift descends ! 

Thus traitors commonly must die ; 
And thus Lord Aymer's story ends. 



509 



LORD BALDWIN 



IjORD Baldwin rose at early dawn* 
And spurr d his courser o'er the lawn, 

To join the eager chace ; 
His onward way the baron took, 
Along the banks of Caldew's brook ; 

But with no tardy pace* 

The devious windings he pursued, 

Till Warnell's towr'ing heights he view'd. 

With forests mantled o'er* 
Here he resolv'd his sports to take, 
And from the close embow'ring brake 

To drive the brindled boar. 

Full sweetly smil'd the op'ning morn* 
Full sweetly blew the echoing horn, 

The landscape bloom'd around ; 
The baying hounds, with op'ning throaty 
Returned the huntsman's clam'rous notes j 

The hills the whole resound, 



310 LORD BALDWIN. 

Lord Baldwin spurr'd his mettled steed* 
To join the party with all speed, 

Devoid of vulgar fear ; 
Nor dimpling streams, nor swampy fen, 
Nor tow'ring cirff, nor headlong glen, 

Could check his bold career. 



But as lie turn'd the skirting wood, 
Close by the margin of the flood, 

A female form he spied. 
Her features shone divinely fair ; 
Angelic seem'd the damsel's air, 

As down the dale she hied. 



Her eyes were of the heav'nly bright, 
Her robes were of the purest white, 

Her hair like threads of gold : 
The fairest flow'r that ever grew 
Might blush at her superior hue, 

All lovely to behold ! 

Lord Baldwin, sudden stopp'd his horse, 
Forgetful of the promis'd course, 

To ask the damsel's name ; 
For in his life, the baron swore, 
He ne'er as yet had seen before, 

By far, so fair a dame. 



LORD BALDWIN, $H 

The damsel she made no reply, 
But bashfully seem'd hasting by, 

Along the winding way ; 
"Nay, by my sooth i (Lord Baldwin said,) 
You pass not thus my lovely maid — 

A moment you must stay." 



So said, dismounting from his steed, 
He onward rush'd with fiery speed 

To seize the beauteous fair ! 
But, nimble as the bird of chace, 
She springs and shuns his fierce embrac* 

He clasps the yielding air. 

cC Fair damsel say, why these alarms ; 
Why thus affrighted shun my arms ?" 

The baffled baron said ; 
I swear by all yon heav'ns above, 
So fix'd, so ceaseless, is my love, 

Thou need'st not be afraid. 



" Then, damsel, doff thy foolish fear, 
My declaration deign to hear, 

Nor thus with panic start : 
I swear that thou shalt be my bride, 
If thou with this art satisfied, 

And mistress of my heart." 



212 XORD BALDWIN. 

" Lord Baldwin, (said the lovely dame,) 
Right well I know thy rank, thy name* 

Tho' I'm to thee unknown : 
But how shall I thy tale believe, 
So long accustom'd to deceive, 

To perfidy so prone ? 



" Since Adelaide, thy once-lov'd wife. 
Forsook this transitory life, 

Has not, within thy dome, 
Fair Emma been, much injur 'd maid. 
By faithless promises betray 'd, 

From honour and from home ? 



" How often has she heard you swear 
Your love to her was all sincere ! 

How long has she believ'd ! 
Then say, Lord Baldwin, how can I 
On these your promises rely, 

Which her have so deceiv'd ? 



" And say, were I your wedded wife, 
Could I submit to live in strife 

With her, a rival there ? 
Or rather you, Lord Baldwin, say., 
Could you remorseless turn away 

The hapless injur'd fair?" 



LORD BALDWIBT. 11$ 

*' Yes, by my sooth ! (Lord Baldwin said,) 
I promise thee, most beauteous maid, 

Upon my knghtly word ; 
Young Emma ! — I'll discharge the fair. 
No rival shall inhabit there, 

That discord can afford. 



" But say, (said he,) most lovely dame^ 
What is your family, your name? 

Of these I wish to know ; 
If ought like this you ask of me, 
My answer should be frank and free ;*— 

As much to me you owe." 



<s No, no ! (the lovely damsel cried,) 
Until I am thy wedded bride, 

That obligation wants ; 
A poor unskilful girl is she, 
Who, while she holds her liberty, 

Each ask'd for favour grants. 



" Believe me, on my plighted word, 
That, tho' thou art a titled lord 

Of most illustrious line, 
Yet I a pedigree can shew, 
That ev'n ambition would allow 

As eminent as thine." 
s s 



514 LORD BALDWINS 

"But why, (Lord Baldwin said,) sweetheart, 
Why should not I, before we part, 

Enjoy the fond embrace ?" 
<c No, no, (said she,) some other time, 
At present it would be a crime ; — 

This is no proper place." 



But tell me when and where (said he,) 
Shall our next happy meeting be ? 

For sooth, my lovely fair ! 
I promise, by the Holy Rood ! 
Our nuptial contract to conclude 
Demurless then and there, 1 ' 



" 111 would it suit me to be seen 
To walk with you the forest green, 

In vulgar slander's spite ; 
But, if my councils you regard, 
I'll meet you in yon lone church-yard^ 

At twelve o'clock at night, 

*' Beneath the solitary yew, 

Close screen'd from each observer's view, 

Free converse we may hold ; 
What curious passenger would dare 
To interrupt our meeting there ? — 

Not one would be so bold." 



LORD BALDWIN. 315 

" Thanks for the terms that you propose, 
(Lord Baldwin said,) my beauteous rose ! 

The meeting suits me well. 
In yon church-yard, beneath the yew, 
Conceafd from each observer's view, 

As midnight strikes the bell." 



" Yes ! at that hour, (replied the fair,) 
That very place, just then and there, 

No better could be found ; 
But how shall I be sure that you 
To this appointment will be true, 

By no engagement bound," 

" Love, (answer'd he,} with him that loves, 
A stronger obligation proves, 

Than protestations are ; 
And could my fair one once dispute 
The truth, the ardour of my suit, 

'Twould drive me to despair. 

fC Here on my bended knee I vow, 
No woman else on earth but you 

Shall share my changeless love ! 
Fair lady! if thou wilt be mine, 
Body and soul I will be thine, 

As time shall better prove." 
ss 2 



316 LORD BALDWIN*- 

u Enough ! (the lovely lady cried,) 
Lord Baldwin, I am satisfied ; 

Nor fortune shall us sever ; 
Here do I swear, that I am thine, 
Body and soul thou shalt be^mine, 

For ever, and for ever V* 



Thus said, swift o'er the winding brook, 
Her homeward way the damsel took, 

Nor waited his reply ; 
He joins the chace with double glee, 
(I ween, a well pleas'd wight was he,) 
With thoughts of future joy. 

But now their various pastimes o'er, 
Lord Baldwin homeward hies once more 

To taste the cheering bowl ; 
His bosom burns with strong desire. 
Meanwhile determinations dire, 

Are gathering in his soul. 

Fair Emma, beauteous injured maid I 
In youthful innocence be tray 'd, 

By practices most base ; 
Had long the baron's heart engag'd, 
But time that passion had assuag'd 

And shunn'd was her embrace. 



LORD BALDWIN. 317 

Thus oft too easy purchas'd joy 
The libertine will soonest cloy, 

And in aversion cease ; 
So Emma, once tho' dearly lov'd^ 
Now cruelly must be remov'd, 

To suit her lord's caprice* 

But how to manage this affair 
Awhile employ 'd the baron's care, 

And kept his mind in doubt ; 
Dominion she too long had held 
By easy means to be expell'd. 

Or violence turn'd out. 



Long time the subject he revolves,. 
At last on secrecy resolves. 

Since better might not be $ 
For her he drugs the fatal bowl, 
With baneful laurel poison foul;— 

Thus, murder sets him free ! 



The night came on ; — with passion fir'd 
Lord Baldwin from his hall retir'd 

Toward the church-yard drear ; 
Nor either did the place or time, 
Or recently committed crime, 

Impress his mind with fear,. 



318 LORD BALDWIN. 

Serene and peaceful was the night, 
Clear shone the moon with silver light, 

Whilst all was hush'd around ; 
No sound except the murm'ring stream, 
No voice except the owlet's scream, 

Disturb 'd the calm profound. 



At length the church-yard rose in view, 
And full was seen the sable yew ; 

Sad melancholy free ; 
The midnight bell had not yet toll'd : 
Lord Baldwin's blood was waxing cold ; 

No damsel could he see. 



At length, with deep and solemn knell, 
The dreary hour rang on the bell ! 

That moment, fair in view, 
Lord Baldwin, by the moon's pale light, 
A female view'd, in garments white, 

Beneath the lonely yew. 

Quick to the place the baron press'd, 
Desire wild burning in his breast, 

To moderation lost ; 
But soon his furious ardour fled, 
His spirits sunk, — he hung his head, — • 

'Twas murder'd Emma's ghost I 



LORD BALDWIN. 3J9 

w Accursed wretch ! (the spectre said,) 
Betraying, thou hast been betrayed; 

Thy wiles have wrought thy woe ! 
Yon yawning grave, false man, behold I 
Trry body it shall soon enfold, 

For Heav'n awards it so. 



" Think, monster ! in that shorten'd time 
Thou hast to live, upon thy crime; 

Think, ere too late it be ! 
Short is thy journey to the tomb, 
Near is thy everlasting doom ! 

Lord Baldwin, think on me i 

No more she spoke, but softly fled ; 
Lord Baldwin shook with inward dread, 

For horror fill'd his mind ; 
With speed he quits the fatal spot, 
Straight homeward hies, and saunters not^ 

Nor dares to look behind. 



Clear shone the moon with silver light, 
Serene and peaceful was the night, 

And all was hush'd around ; 
No sound except the murm'ring stream. 
No voice except the owlet's scream, 

Disturb'd the calm profound. 



320 XORD BALDWIN. 

When as Lord Baldwin nearer drew 
His castle gate, there fair in view 

A lovely damsel stood ; 
Her vestments all appear 'd the same 
As those worn by the beauteous dame, 

Near WarneH's skirting wood. 

* Shame fall your heart! (the damsel said;) 
Why, could aw T eak and wanton maid 

Affright Lord Baldwin so ? 
'Twas I that play'd the ghost, to try 
Your courage ; but, Lord Baldwin, why 

Did you so quickly go ?" 



The crimson blush of shame o'erspread 
The baron's cheek ; his terrors fled, 

And fondly he replied, — 
ft Come to my arms, thou charming one ! 
Tis thou, and thou art fit alone 

To be Lord Baldwin's bride ! 



* Come then unto my longing arms, 
Nor cruelly withhold those charms, 

Since nothing shall us sever ; 
For here I swear that thou art mine, 
Body and soul I will be thine, 

For ever and for ever !" 



LORD BALDWIN. St I 

« Body and soul ! (the lady cried,) 
With that I am well satisfied, 

The promise comes with grace 5" 
Then, as the vulture swift, she sprang, 
And on his neck and bosom hung 

With eager fix'd embrace. 



ie Avaunt ! detested fiend of hell ! 
(The baron roar'd, with dreadful yell,) 

What means this dev'lish strife !'* 
This was not she, the lady fair 
Of Warnell-wood, so debonair, 

But Adelaide, his wife ! 



Her fleshless arms his neck embrac'd, 
Her putrid lips to his were plac'd, 

Chill horror shook his soul ; 
Her smell was like the scorpion's breathy 
Her icy touch was cold as death, 

And horrible the whole. 



<c Shake of? your fear, (the spectre said,) 
What makes Lord Baldwin thus afraid ! 

Where is your courage fled ? 
Can he, who could destroy his wife, 
Who reft poor Emma of her life, 

Thus shake with childish dread ? 

TT 



322 LORD BALDWIN. 

" AVhen sated wifh my bridal charms. 
To take another to your arms, 

What cruelty you us'd I 
To me the poison'd bowl you gave, 
And sent me to an early grave* 

Degraded and abus'd. 

ec In love a second time with me, 
The self-same cruel villainy 

You practis'd with success : 
Like mine, with you, was Emma's fate; 
Short was youi love — severe your hate ; 

Abandoned to excess. 



" What vice, what baseless has been thine,. 
Who laws, both human and divine, 

Didst proudly set at nought ! 
By faithless protestations made, 
What innocents hast thou betray'd, 

To shame and ruin brought ! 

il But now, Lord Baldwin, at the last, 
I have thee, and will hold thee fast ; 

On earth nought shall us sever : 
Your oath was — By the pow'rs divine, 
Body and soul I will be thine, 

For ever and for ever !" 



LORD BALDWIN. 323 

Lord Baldwin made her no reply ; 
Pale grew his face, and dirri his eye ; 

His heart it throbb'd full sore : 
At length, with an expiring yell, 
He on the pavement lifeless fell, 

And words spoke never more! 

Yet often, as the rustics say, 

Lord Baldwin takes his midnight way 

Along the winding stream ; 
Two female forms, array 'd in white, 
Pursue him thro' the live-long night, 

And hoot w^ith hideous scream ! 



^tmm&zSgkd*. 







X % % 



324? 



THE 



WITCH OF ESKDALE 



U.AVE you heard of Ethel wolfa? 

Cruel witch of Eskdale nam'd ; 
Or her daughter Adelinda, 

For her peerless beauty fam'd ? 

Not the rose that on the mountain 
Breathes its fragrance to the air, 

Nor the deeply-ting'd carnation 

Might their bloom with her's compare 

Such her charms were, each beholder 
Felt with instant love inspir'd ; 

And her form, angelic moulded, 
Might a santon's soul have nYd. 

But, alas I those fatal beauties 
Seem'd by hell, not heav'n, bestow'd ; 

For, within the fairest bosom, 
Sentiments the foulest flow'd. 



THE WITCH OF ESKD'ALE. 325 

She, the beldam base, her mother, 

With her incantations foul, 
Had with dev'lish pains corrupted 

Adelinda's youthful soul. 

With each mystery infernal 

Was her infant bosom stor'd ; 
Taught to seek no other pleasure 

But what vice and guilt afford. 

She, the wicked Ethel wolfa, 

Seem'd no happiness to know, 
But in such as was derived. from 

Others wretchedness and woe. 

Long thro' Cannoby remembered, 
Was her hellish influence fear'd, 

For, in many a sad example, 

Had her dreadful pow'r appear'd. 

Not with common mischief sated, 
Such as deluge, dearth, and storm,. 

Fairest forms to foulest monsters 
Frequently would she transform. 

Oft the mother's fondled darling 
Scowls a sad mis-shapen spright, 

And the hamlet's boasted beauty 
Bed-rid shows a haggard sight. 



526 THE WITCH OF ESKDALE, 

Such was she, the witch of Eskdale^ 
Such her daughter, as they say; 

Such their pranks, as country legend 
Has recorded to this day. 

On the winding banks of Leven, 
Liv'd (quoth legendary lore,) 

Arribert, a noble Saxon, 

Much renovvn'd in days of yore. 

Nor Bernicia, nor Deira, 

Might a braver champion boast ; 

Oft had lie from Cumbrian borders 
Drove the plund'ring Pictish host. 

Fair Oroda was his consort, 
To great Edwin near allied. 

Thro' Northumbrian mighty kingdom,- 
None could boast a fairer bride. 

Angelina, lovely damsel, 

Was their daughter, she alone ; 

But, in point of female beauty* 
She has need to yield to none. 

Albert, warden of the borders, 
Beauteous Angelina lov'd, 

Nor by her, nor by her parents, 
Was that passion disapprov'd. 



THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 327 

He was young, was rich, was handsome^ 

And, quoth chronicle, I ween, 
Pair more lovely or more graceful 

Happy Eskdale ne'er had seen ! 

Fair, but wicked Adelinda 

Saw the youth — her female heart, 

Tho' with arts infernal tainted, 

Own'd Love's pow'rful piercing dart. 

Each alluring wile she practis'd, 
Albert's youthful heart to gains 

Blandishment and incantation 
All were exercis'd in vain. 

He her various arts resisted, 

Shunn'd her with assiduous care; 

Conscious charms so fascinating 
E'en might Virtue's self ensnare. 

Well he knew the fair enchantress' 
Mighty pow'r, by arts most foul; 

But her diabolic vices 

Horrified his virtuous soul. 

Yet he fear'd her fierce resentment, 

Rouz'd by unrequited love ; 
Dreaded lest her mother's vengeance 

Might his certain ruin prove. 



328 THE WITCH' OF ESKDAL£ ? 

Still he wish'd to seem unconscious 

Of fair Adelinda's flame; 
Fearful to provoke the anger 

Of the love-sick slighted dame. 

Adelinda mark'd his coolness, 

Vain her artifices prove ; 
Well she knew his fix'd aversion, 

Tho' she burns with bootless love. 

Vengeful cruel Ethelwolfa 

Mark'd her daughter's languid air, 

Well, too well, she knew the secret, 
And the cause of all her care. 

She herself with lawless passion, 

Fiercer, but as ill return'd, 
Struggling sore 'twist love and vengeance, 

For brave Arribert had burn'd. 

Wisely he her wiles avoiding, 
From her pow'r awhile escapes ; 

Tho' with each allurement tempted^ 
In a thousand various shapes ! 

Prompted oft by lustful fury, 

On his ruin she seems bent ; 
Yet her love, still interposing, 

Stops her in her base intent 



THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 329 

But her Adelinda slighted, 

Beauty's bloom — the mother's pride ! 
Now provok'd the furious beldam 
More than ev'ry thing beside. 

Ev'ry fonder soft sensation 
Soon is chok'd with hellish gall ; 

Soon with ruin dire resolving, 
Fell revenge on one and all ! 

Loudly howl'd the midnight tempest, 
Dreadful was the lightning's glare ! 

Whilst loud yells and horrid uproar 
Seem'd to rend the troubled air. 

Terror shook the neighb ring country, 
Ev'ry heart was fUl'd with fear ! 

Soon 'twas known that Ethelwolfa 
Rode the storm in wild career ! 

Morning light a hideous prospect 

Sad presented thro' the dale ; 
Far and wide huge devastation, 

Toss'd and tumbling 'midst the gale. 

Refted was the forest's grandeur, 

Scatter'd, strew'd, the mountain's side ; 

Floating herds of sheep and oxen 
Check the progress of the tide, 
u u 



350 THE WITCH OF ESKDA LE. 

But Lord Arribert's fair mansion 
Scene most shocking yet displays ; 

From the top to the foundation, 
All appear *d one common blaze ! 

Piteous shrieks and lamentations 
Loudly rang the castle round ; 

But, where 'midst such sad confusion, 
Where was succour to be found ? 

Wrapp'd in wonder, each beholder 
Scarce possess 'd of life appear 'd ; 

When a sound, more loud and hideous, 
From the battlements was heard i 

5 Twas as if a host of demons 
Had with hellish mirth begun, 

To applaud, in peals of laughter, 
All the mischief they had done ! 

When with merriment infernal 

These had hooted, laugh d their fill. 

With loud thunders all was ended, 
In an instant all was still ! 

Forth now from the dreadful castle, 
Wrapp'd so late in circling flame, 

Arribert, with his Oroda, 
To the outer portal came. 



THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 331 

But, alas ! the woeful morning, 

He no longer views the light ; 
Having been by foul enchantment. 

Quite divested of his sight ! 

And the beauteous Angelina, 

All their hope, their only care, 
She was gone, amidst the tempest, 

She was gone, but none knew where ! 

Albert, too, within the castle 

Lay that night in sleep profound ; 

Yet, tho' they had search'd each chamber., 
He was no where to be found. 



No, the cruel Ethelwolfa 

ShowYd on both her hellish hate ; 
Both, tho* guiltless, doom'd to suffer, 

Both — tho' each a diff rent fate* 

Arribert in deep affliction 

Mourn'd his loss of sight full sore ; 
But both he and fair Oroda 

Mourn'd their Angelina more. 

Albert too they much lamented, 
But all sorrow was in vain ; 

For of them nor tale nor tidings, 
Far or near could they obtain I 
V u2 



332 THE WITCH OF ESKbALE, 

In each glen and gloomy grotto, 
Caves and caverns under ground, 

Long they sought to little purpose — 
No where could the fair be found. 

Arribert, with his Oroda, 

Many a day in wand'ring pass'd ; 

Still in hopes their Angelina 
Haply might be found at last. 

One day, as forlorn they wander y d,. 

High on Christenbury-crag, 
There they met with Adelinda, 

Daughter of the cruel hag. 

"Arribert with thy Oroda, 
Turn ! (the fair enchantress said;) 

This way comes my cruel mother, 
In her hand the fatal blade. 

" Turn with speed, nor stand to parley^ 
Danger presses on thy stay : 

Certain woe, perhaps destruction^ 
Must attend thy onward way. 

" 'Tis no joy to me, believe me, 
Here to witness thy distress ; 

Rather than increase thy anguish, 
Gladly would I make it less. 



THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 333 

£f Kindly witch, (said he,) thy warning 

Carefully let me regard ; 
In some future day thy kindness 

Arribert may yet reward." 

Thus he said, and cautious turning, 
Groping forward with his staff, 

From behind him Adelinda 

Rais'd a fiend-like hideous laugh. 

"Fool, (she said,) what peerless phrenzy 
Prompts thy mind to thank me so ; 

Think'st thou Ethelwolfa's daughter 
Can befriend a mother's foe ! 

" Fool ! to think, that I, the daughter. 

Duty should so far disclaim; 
No ! whate'er my mother's interests, 

Adelinda's are the same." 

At that instant, close behind him, 

Ethelwolfa furious stood; 
As the bear Hyrcanean, thirsting 

For the helpless heifer's blood. 

O'er his head her faulchion shaking, 

Dire destruction to presage 
Loud she scream 'd each dreadful menace, 

Whilst she boii'd with hell born rage, 



334 THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 

Steep and dang'rous was the passage, 
Where they stood, as trav'lers know > 

High the fall, whilst Leven's waters 
Loudly dashing foam'd below. 

Imps of hell ! he loudly thunder 'd, 
Thus with you I share my death ; 

Seizing bo:h, he headlong tumbled 
To the bellowing gulph beneath. 

At that moment near the bottom, 
Rushing from a bushy brake, 

With reiterating hissings, 

Roll'd a large tremendous snake. 

Round the neck of Ethel wol fa, 

And of Adelinda fair 
Swift it wreaths its coils resistless. 

Loudly hissing thro' the air. 

Forward o'er the craggy margin, 
Heedless of each piteous scream, 

On the hideous serpent hawls them, 
Headlong to the turbid stream. 

Arribert, tho' he attended 

In the deep and dang'rous fall, 
Lighting on the twain beneath him. 
Had receiv'd no hurt at all. 



THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 3$5 

As lie rose, a voice shrill sounding, 
From the stream distinctly roar'd ; 

Haste ! oh haste ! the time is precious — ■ 
Arribert, secure the sword ! 

Aided by his better genius, 

On the sword his hand he laid, 
And, obedient to the summons, 

Held secure the fatal blade. 

Sudden on his eye-balls streaming, 
Gush'd the rays of welcome light; 

And all gay his lovely daughter 
Angelina stood in sight. 

Wild with grief, in hast Oroda 
Down the steep her dang'rous way 

Sought, supposing at the bottom, 
Her dear husband lifeless lay. 

But what pleasure and amazement 

Must the scene at once afford 
Angelina to discover, 

And her husband's sight restor'd ! 

" Whence, ah ! whence, my Angelina, 
Hast thou sprung? (the mother said ;) 

In what cavern, dark and dreary, 
Hast thou dwelt, my pretty maid?" 



336 THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. 

" In no cavern have I sheltered, 
But amidst yon bushy brake ; 

I, your daughter Angelina, 
Was but now a hideous snake. 

" But bring on the sword, dear father ; 

Yet there's wond'rous work to do; 
Many more unhappy victims 

Their deliv'rance claim from you." 

To a cavern then she led him, 
Deep within the yawning rock ; 

Where a scene of horror offer 'd, 
Cruelty itself might shock. 

Here reclin'd on stony couches, 

Many a lord and lady gay, 
Richly rob'd, but void of motion, 

In profoundest slumbers lay. 

<( Strike, oh strike ! (said Angelina,) 
Strike the bell — but once, — no more y 

Once too sound that winding bugle, 
And the whole enchantment's o'er," 

Loud he rang the sounding tocsin, 
Loud he blew the echoing horn, 

Dire convulsions shook the cavern, 
As if with an earthquake torn. 



THE WITCH OF ESKDALE. $37 

Darting from their death-like slumbers, 

Up arose the various train ; 
Gazing round in wild confusion, 

To behold the light again ! 

Joy in ev'ry face sat smiling, 

All in gratitude were loud; 
But best pleas'd seem'd Angelina, 

Finding Albert in the crow'd. 

He of slighted Adelinda 

Had endur'd the wrath alone s 
By her chang'd into a statue, 

As she deem'd his heart of stone. 

But this well-tim'd blest redemption, 

Which to all deliverance gave, 
Cheer'd each heart, while, pleas'd and thankful, 

Soon they quit th' enchanted cave. 

Albert soon, in happy nuptials, 

Join'd with Angelina gay ; 
And in Eskdale, blest and happy, 

Liv'd the pair for many a day. 



x x 



THE FOUNDLING. 



JjOOK where' yon cottage stands so humbly neat, 
Oft the tir'd pilgrim's welcome snug retreat ; 
Whether from summer's heat, or parching droughty 
Or wintry blasts, he kindly shelter sought. 
The tempting sign to entrance did provoke, 
And time was shorten d by the landlord's joke. 
The nut-brown ale, and hostess' courteous smile, 
Serv'd the dull hour of ling'ring to beguile. 
For complaisance was ever seen to wait 
On those who deign 'd a visit at their gate. 
With rural neatness was the mansion dress'd, 
Which gave the liquor still a double zest. 
And so well pleas'd were all who chanc'd to stay, 
That none e'er pass'd— who came again that way? 
But now low laid is this industrious pair, 
And ceas'd is both their courtesy and care. 
Beneath yon hillock, where the myrtles wave, 
This couple lie interr'd within one grave ; 
Strange was their destiny, unkind their fate, 
But hush ! till I their history relate. 



THE FOUNDLING, 339 

Near where yon distant mountains tow'ringrisej 
And Skiddaw's summit seems to pierce the skies ? 
Liv'd Fanner Harrowood, an honest boor, 
A man nor very rich, nor very poor. 
A farm he had, indeed it was but small, 
A horse, two cows, some sheep, and that was all ; 
Yet, he respected by his neighbours was, 
Who think of what man is, not what he has ; 
For 'tis not in the lowly vale of life 
As in the higher spheres, where pride and strife, 
With swoll'n ambition, occupy the great, 
And merit rests on eminence and state. 
No ! Farmer Harrowood was honest deem'd, 
And was for virtue more than wealth esteem'd ; 
To cultivate with care his little stock, 
Or on the mountain side, to tend his flock, 
Was nearly all his labour, all his care — 
His heart for wishes had no time to spare. 
The body's labour still engag'd the mind, 
And health was still with exercise combin'd. 
It chanc'd the Farmer rose one morn in May, 
And to his labour took his wonted way. 
In merry mood, he cheerly trudg'd along, 
And carol'd to himself a homespun song $ 
When suddenly he heard, with fix'd surprise, 
Distinct and near, a whining infant's cries. 
He look'd about — and nestling on the ground, 
Beneath the hedge a new-born infant found, 

x x 2 



340 THE FOUNDLING, 

Naked it was, save that a rag was roll'd 
Around its limbs, to shield it from the cold ; 
Mov'd with amazement at th' uncommon scene, 
The farmer look'd quite thunderstruck I ween ; 
Yet, as his bosom pity ever knew, 
He stood not long in pond'ring what to do ; 
But from the earth the sprawling infant rears, 
And to his wife the curious ofT'ring bears ; 
To whom, as it had pleas'd omniscient heav'n, 
No offspring of her own had e'er been giv'n. 
To her the husband tells the wond'rous tale, 
Perhaps the strangest thing e'er happen'd in their 

dale; 
No jealous doubt the rustic* dame alarms, 
But pleas'd, she takes the foundling to her arms, 
And with a mother's fondness, and her cares, 
Each necessary speedily prepares. 
Soon garments proper for its rank are bought, 
Whilst, as assiduously, a nurse is sought. 
Its wants their joint attention seem'd t' employ. 
And Rowland was the name they gave the boy. 
Fast thro' the neighb'ring vales the tidings run, 
That Farmer Harrowood had got a son. 
The case mysterious vex'd each rustic's brain, 
And wild conjecture guess 'd — but guess 'd in vain. 
Some thought of this one, others thought of that, 
And Rowland was the theme of ev'ry chat. 
Ne'er heed be he of high or humble race, 
The child was healthful, and improv'd apace. 



THE FOUNDLING. 34} 

First, by degrees, begins to lisp and talk, 
And then progressively attempts to walk $ 
Next in his fosterfather's hand he goes, 
And calls him sire — as he no other knows ; 
Still rip'ning onward, see him now ascend 
The mountains, and his fleecy charge attend ; 
For, ever pliant to his sire's controul, 
T' obey seem'd all the pleasure of his soul. 

Industrious, careful, honest, and sincere, 
He to his neighbours, as his friends, was dear; 
Whilst not a youth that rang'd the sylvan grow, 
But what solicited young Rowland's love ; 
Nor was he ever in his friendship shy, 
As to oblige seem'd to increase his joy ; 
Nor could the youthful beauties of the place, 
With unconcern, view his engaging face. 
A manly comeliness, tho' but a child, 
Sat on his brow, and o'er each feature smil'd. 
Mix'd with a soft engagingness and ease, 
That seem'd adapted ev'ry heart to please. 
In fine, by either sex he was approv'd, 
The males commended, and the females lov'd. 

Amongst the various damsels of the dale, 
The beauteous boast of Keswick's lovely vale, 
Was Marg'ret, loveliest of the rustic train 
Who sport at ev ning on the daisied plain. 
Her sparkling eye with softest lustre shone, 
Her cheeks were like the rose-bud newly blown. 



342 THE FOUNDLING. 

Her limbs seem'd form'd in nature's fairest mould, 

And her whole frame was beauteous to behold. 

Base born she was, the truth we must record, 

For all depends upon the author's word. 

Veracity historians should observe, 

Nor from the paths of truth affect to swerve : 

Her mother was a low-bred country dame, 

(As one would say,) of no exalted fame ; 

But, whether by seduction's wiles o'erthrown, 

Or from propensity to lewdness prone, 

Is what I am not able here to say, 

As 'tis a matter doubtful to this day. 

But this we know, the child was born in shame, 

Tho' from the world she kept the father's name. 

The parish nurs'd the girl, who grew apace, 

And, as she wax'd in years, improv'd in grace. 

But no more like the dame that gave her birth. 

Than melancholy is a-kin to mirth; 

For she was modest as a cloister'd nun, 

And chaste as Dian, sister of the sun. 

And Farmer Jobson says, and says 'tis true, 

A finer girl than her he never knew ; 

For she with him was servant seven long years, 

As by her own indenture still appears ; 

And whilst she serv'd him he declares, that still 

Her chiefest pleasure seem'd to be his will. 

Polite to all she met, she won, no doubt, 

Th' esteem of all the neighbours round about. 



THE FOUNDLING* 543 

Well, be it so, 'tis meet we forward speed, 
And to the marrow of our tale proceed. 

Full fifteen years o'er Marg'ret's head had hurl'd, 
Since she'd been usher'd to the busy world 
At which said period, ev'ry blooming grace 
That youth can boast sat pictur'd in her face ; 
Oft had her eyes on Rowland fix'd their stare, 
Unconscious of the cause that kept them there. 
Of love she little knew except the name — 
Strange to the cause, altho' she felt the flame. 
Yet, still she gaz'd on Rowland with delight, 
And felt uneasy when not in her sight. 

Meanwhile the youth had now attain'd sixteen, 
By far the sprucest stripling on the green ; 
With him not one of all the rural throng 
Could run so fast, or hold it out so long j 
With such dexterity could leap the mound, 
Or tumble heels o'er crupper on the ground. 
In all these puerile feats he far excell'd^ 
Nor was unenvied by his peers beheld ; 
Who all with equal emulation fir'd, 
To match at least, if not surpass, aspir'd. 
At ev'ning, when the labours of the day 
Were ceas'd, and twilight gave the village play ; 
With jocund heart he'd haste him to the ring, 
And with his neighbour-youths would dance and 

sing; 
Yet, when he sported 'midst the happy host, 
Of all the nymphs, he noticed Marg'ret most 



344 TOE FOUNDLING. 

With mark'd attention he beheld each grace*, 
Each rising beauty in her blushing face ; 
Watch'd all her movements with assiduous care, 
And all her pains and pleasures seem'd to share. 
Change where she would, or saunter here or there, 
He still was happiest when she was most near; 
And when dark night proclaimed their ending sport, 
Tho' e'er so long to him, the time seem'd short. 
If e'er he went by chance to Maudlin Fair,* 
No sport he found if Marg'ret were not there. 
But fraught with nick-nacks horn ewanl soon he hied, 
With ev'ry thing, save her, dissatisfied. 
Thus long with passion combating they strove, 
Each fearful to reveal their sm other 'd love ; 
Which, stifled thus, but with more ardour burns 7 
And ev'ry effort of concealment spurns, 
Till bursting forth it baffles all controul, 
And each to each confess'd their secret soul. 
Long had their neighbours mark'd their mutual 

love, 
Nor one their flame could justly disapprove. 
Their equal fortunes, and their equal age, 
All seem'd a happy union to presage ; 
None could object to difference of estate, 
So like their persons, and so like their fate. 
And ev'ry body thought, who thought could 

spare, 
There could not well be found a nicer pair. 

* An annual fair held at Keswick. 



THE FOUNDLING. 345 

Whilst Farmer Harrowood was pleas'd to th' life, 
And swore that Marg'ret should be Rowland's 

wife ! 
And in his will, so well he lik'd the Jad, 
He would bequeath him ev'ry thing he had. 
Meanwhile the years on tardy pinions flew, 
Whilst stronger their commutual passions grew. 
At length a day was fix'd to solemnize 
Their nuptials, and complete their long-wish'djoys. 
The newsdrffus'd a joy throughout the dale, 
And ev'ry youth was gladden'd with the tale. 
The morn arriv'd — in gayest vestments dress'd. 
The rustic groupe towards the bridal press'd, 
All equally desirous to attend. 
As ev'ry swain to Rowland was a friend, 
And ev'ry nymph th' esteem of Marg'ret shar'd, 
So all the village, on that morn prepar'd 
To celebrate with joy the festive day, 
Where smiles illum'd each face, and ev'ry heart 
was gay. 
The Gordian knot was tied — the happy pair, 
Escorted by their train, from church repair 
To Farmer Jobson's house, who had supplied 
A dinner, for the love he bore the bride ! 
Here simple dainties in abundance made 
A feast unmix'd with lux'ry or parade. 
Thejspafkling ale in goblets stream'd around, 
And merriment the guileless banquet crown'd* 

y y 



346" THE FOUNDLING, 

The dinner done, the cheerful throng withdrawn, 
Prepare their gambols on the daisied lawn ; 
"Where dulcet sounds of music echoing round, 
A doubling chorus from the hills resound. 
At length the jovial party, ev'ning come, 
'Gin each to think of their respective home : 
The pair they wish all happiness and health, 
With handsome children, and increase of wealth. 
Each farmer cordial shakes his neighbour's hand, 
And from the green retire the jocund band. 
Young Rowland with his blushing Marg'ret goes 
To Jobson's house, the bridal scene to close. 
A few selected friends attend him there, 
And with him all the joys of ev'ning share ; 
Till night now far advanc'd, the bridegroom led 
Young Marg'ret from amidst the throng to bed. 
Here at friend Jobson's house a week they stay, 
Who former service wishful to repay, 
Three ewes selects, the fairest of his flock, 
And to the bride presents, to found her stock ; 
With promises of favours yet to come, 
As soon as they got settled once at home. 
Young Rowland, ever careful in his schemes^ 
Had sav'd, whilst in his servitude., it seems, 
By wagers won, and various other ways, 
A sum, in time, might independence raise. 
Nor long his hours in indolence he pass'd, 
For, looking round each day, he found at last 



THE FOUNDLING. 347 

A place close by, quite answering to his plan; 
And now he deem'd himself a happy man. 
Here soon he shifts, and stocks his little farm, 
And, as the road was near, thought it no harm 
To keep a public-house ; as, by that chance, 
He hop'd his little fortune to advance : 
And on his sign inscrib'd the humble tale, 
That here was sold—" Good Porter, Beerj and 

Ale!" 
In this his warmest wishes were excell'd, 
His house with customers was daily nll'd; 
The landlord's courtesy allur'd each guest, 
And all the goodness of his ale confess'd ; 
Whilst ev'ry trav'ler, with his welcome fain ? 
Fromis'cl to call whene'er he came again. 
Thus happiness appear'd to bless their clays* 
And thus success attended on their ways. 
No feuds domestic vex'd their frugal life* 
The husband happy — and content the wife. 
That love, which in wild passion first begun', 
Wore into friendship, as it onward run. 
In six short years six children's smiles they share, 
As Rowland, mild, and as their mother, fair. 
But how evanescent are earthly joys, - 
How soon Misfortune's touch each hope destroys, 
How soon our fairest prospects are overthrown, 
And dire Despair usurps Hope's radiant throne !— 
Itchanc'd, one wintry day, quite wet and cold, 
That Marg'ret's mother, feeble grown, and old, 
y y £ 



348. THE FOUNDLING". 

Set down the vale, in slow unequal trot, 
To pay a visit to her daughter's cot. 
For, tho' conceiv'd in guilt, and born in shame, 
Dear to the parent was the daughter's name. 
Fast fell the rain, the hurricane blew strong, 
As Magdalen, all storm-struck, trudg'd along. 
Scarce could she combat with the baffling blast, 
And in the mire her feet were oft stuck fast. 
At length she reach'd the place, but so o'ercome, 
She scarce could gain the portal of the dome. 
She knock'd — the ready door wide open flew ; 
But how was Marg'ret thunderstruck to view 
The hapless parent of her lawless birth 
Exhausted, pale, and sinking to the earth ! 
Tho' Marg'ret never knew a mother's care, 
At least of kindness had but little share, 
Yet filial piety her bosom warms, 
And, taking the poor wand'rer in her arms, 
She bore her gently, tho' bedaub Yi with mire, 
And plac'd her in a chair before the fire. 
There, with officious care, a cordial brings, 
And ministers revivifying things; 
With anxious hopes to stop the fleeting breath, 
And snatch her from the yawning jaws of death. 
The daughter's kindly care, the genial flame, 
Recover'd partially the shiv'ring dame. 
But death's cold hand had grasp'd about her heart! 
And life seem'd stagnant in each vital part. 



THE FOUNDLING. 34$ 

And tho 5 affection might with nature strive, 

It certain seem'd she could not long survive 5 

Convinc'd herself of her approaching end, 

Them she entreats a moment to attend ; 

Ere she surrender'd to all-conquering fate, 

To what she then was labouring to relate ; 

But begg'd, that to the world might ne'er be 

known, 
What was of consequence to them alone ! 
They hush'd — th' expiring beldam thus begun.: 
" Draw near, my daughter, and attend, my son — 
Both children of my womb I say, whilst I live, 
Can you this peerless cruelty forgive ? 
If so, 'twould rather ease my parting soul, 
And soothe a conscience with offences foul ! 
Brother and sister by one sire you are, 
One common mother too, in me, you share ! 
A lawless libertine your father, he 
Seduc'd, betray'd, and then deserted, me ! 
Thee, Rowland, first I bore ; and 'twas my aim, 
By thy exposure, to conceal my shame ; 
For I so artfully the world beguil'd, 
No mortal ever knew I was with child ! 
But, Marg'ret, ere with thee I'd pregnant been 
Six months, my guilt was evidently seen ! 
But, oh ! I faint ! the icy hand of death 
Suspends each faculty, and stops my breath ! 

Oh ! can you, can you pardon, ere I die?" * 

She ceas'd — no more but one expiring sigh. 



350 THE FOUNDLING. 

But say, what pencil shall describe the look 
That of the hapless pair possession took ! 
Silent in grief, both petrified they stood, 
Whilst horror fix'd their looks, and chill'd their 
blood ! 

The awful pause at length poor Rowland broke i 
And thus unto his consort-sister spoke : 
il O Marg'ret ! how shall I this blow survive? 
It were in vain with Destinyto strive ; 
I feel more agonies than tongue can tell ! 
The daum'd reflection drives me down to hell! 
Incest! — Perdition ! — Heav'n can ne'er forgive 
The monstrous wretch ! and suffer him to live ! 
O cruel, cursed mother ! — damn the tongue, 
In telling us the secret kept so long ! 
Why, if thy silence saunterd to this time, 
Might we not live unconscious of the crime? 
Why not, when guiltless of that damning fact, 
Could she have spoke, and stopp'd th' infernal act > 
But now to come, when all the crime was past, 
And make us doubly miserable at last ! 
Guilt was not ours till conscious of th' offence, 
And tho' we err'd, 'twas but in innocence ! 
Pure was our love, reciprocal the flame, 
In childhood nurtured, and thro' life the same. 
Happy in each, till her foul ravings first 
Show'd us our sin, and made us doubly curs'd !"" 

Thus storm 'd the injur'd husband and the sen, 
Whilst from his tong-ue loud execrations run! 



THE FOUNDLING. 



351 



Wild phrenzy shook his frame ! all reason fled ; 
And one short week beheld him with the dead! 
Poor Margret longer bore her hapless part, 
A year she pin'd, but sorrow broke her heart I* 



f The foregoing story, however romantic it may appear, is notwithstanding 
too certainly a fact, which happened in the west of Cumberland, since the; 
commencement of the nineteenth century . 




352 



SIBERT AND ELEANOR 



A TALE OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY 



ARGUMENT. 



Since writing the following story, I have met with one in Boccace's Deca- 
meron, which very much resembles it. The Italian, however, has this 
difference, that, after the horrid eclaircissement, he makes his Lady leap 
out of the window. The description of Sicily, and of iEtna, is little 
more than a translation of a passage in the third book of Virgil's iEneid ; 
though I had not an opportunity, when this story was written, of referring 
to that poet, being forced to depend in this, as in every other piece, merely 
upon my own recollection, 



JN EAR where the lofty heights of Hartside rise, 
"Whose tow 'ring cliffs salute its neighbour skies, 
In days of yore a stately mansion stood 
Close to the margin of Tyne's winding flood; 
Where liv'd, if rightly I relate my tale, 
A wealthy knight, Sir Edred of the Dale. 
One only daughter was his only care 
And equal pride, young Eleanor the fair : 
Bless'd with each charm that nature can impart* 
And form'd alike to captivate each heart, 
Gentle she was, as is the tender dove, 
And ev'ry action but excited love, 



SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 356 

Full many a baron brave and wealthy thane 
Sought the fair hand of Eleanor to gain j 
But she to all alike indiff'rence paid, 
Save Sibert who alone engag'd the maid. 
No lands had he, ho title, and no fame, 
Low his descent, and as obscure his name ! 
Yet native beauty flush'd his youthful face, 
And form'd he was with ev'ry manly grace ; 
His courage ne'er was known to turn aside, 
Nor paid respect to insolence or pride. 

It chanc'd on bus'ness oft young Sibert sent^ 
By neighbouring gentry, to Sir Edred's went; 
For such was his politeness and address, 
That none were sham'd the stripling to caress. 
Thus, at the baron's house, still frank and free* 
Oft had he time fair Eleanor to see. 
She, too, beheld the youth with fond delight, 
Nor easy felt when he was from her sight. 
Thus seem'd one common flame to fire each breast^ 
And each to each that passion soon confess'd. 
A sad disparity there was, 'tis true, 
*Twixt him and her, which well young Sibert knew. 
But love impartial little def 'rence shows 
To rank, nor more respect to these than those, 
His own remarks to Sibert soon made known, 
That he was pleasing to the maid alone. 
Thus, happy in their loves, the mdhients pass-'d 
On downy wings, till Destiny at last 

z z 



354 S1BERT AND ELEANOR. 

Threaten'd all hopes of pleasure to suspend, 
That now their happy intercourse should end ; 
And each thro' future life be doom'd to share 
A changeless series of distress and care. 
Far to the North, where Tyne his current pours, 
And, passing, waters bleak Northumbrian shores, 
A wealthy baron liv'd, well known to fame, 
Near Adrian's w T all, Sir Hildebrand his name: 
Extensive were the lands that he possess'd, 
And num'rous baronies his pow'r confess'd. 
Amongst the groupe who their addresses paid, 
From various views, to Eleanor, fair maid, 
Came Hildebrand — his suit Sir Edred heard, 
And sordidly to all the rest preferr'd : 
His vast domains were arguments alone 
By which all other claims were easily o'erthrown ; 
And with the parent these sufficient prov'd j 
Each obstacle besides was soon remov'd. 
A daughter's happiness, a friend's distress, 
Were ne'er consider'd, and a lover less. 
Love with ambition has but little part, 
As little still affects the sordid heart. 
Sir Edred view'd aggrandizement alone, 
All else were trifles, foolish, and unknown. 
By such a union his was sure to be 
The mightiest house in all the North country. 
With heartfelt grief fair Ellen heard the tale, 
But sighs or sorrow little can avail. 



SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 355 

'Tis not for her her destiny to choose, 

This husband to prefer, or that refuse. 

Alike in vain remonstrance and debate, 

The father's fiat is the daughter's fate. 

Tears and expostulations useless prove, 

Or claims of pity, or of prov'n love. 

Each gentler argument must now give way 

To sordid av rice, and confess its sway. 

Fair Ellen, at her ruthless sire's command, 

To one she hates must give her heartless hand ! 

Rent with despair, the sad unhappy maid 

At midnight seeks the solitary shade ; 

And, hopeless of all solace and relief, 

She to the forest tells her tale of grief. 

With bootless lamentation fills the grove, 

And loud complainings of her luckless love ; 

While the surrounding rocks and murm 'ring stream 

Reecho back the melancholy theme. 

Young Sibert haply passing thro* the shade, 
Chanc'd to o'erhear the sadly-sorrowing maid. 
His Ellen's voice full well the lover knew, 
And to the place with swift impatience flew. 
Enquir'd the cause of her uncommon grief, 
And kindly sought to minister relief. 
To him she told the tale of her distress, 
Nor was the youth at hearing anguish 'd less. 
Despair his bosom rack'd with mingling ire, 
His tongue vociferated vengeance dire, 

z z 2 



356 SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 

They kiss'd, they wept, bemoan'd their hapless 

state, 
And curs'd the authors of their wayward fate ; 
But vainly their misfortunes they deplore, 
Soon they must part, and part to meet no more ! 
A tender last adieu they sadly took, 
As each reluctantly the grove forsook ; 
But ere the lovers left the lonely place, 
Or ere they sever'd from the last embrace, 
Young Sibert pledg'd a vow and firmly said, 
"Of this be confident, thou beauteous maid, 
Dead or alive, successful or o'erthrown, 
My heart shall still be thine, and thine alone." 
Thus from those pleasing scenes of youthful love, 
The beauteous Eleanor must now remove, 
And, in obedience to her wedded lord, 
To grace a mansion which her soul abhorr'd. 
Thirl wall, the place of gothic pile and rude, 
On the bleak confines of Northumbria stood; 
Close on one side the Pictish wall extends, 
Which to the westward near the Solway ends $ 
And to the eastward, passing on the line, 
Ends near the efflux of the river Tyne. 
Lonely and bleak, the station still has been, 
As by its vestiges may yet be seen. 
Here with Sir Hildebrand, the hapless dame, 
Fair Eleanor, a bride all mournful came ; 
Grandeur was there ; but say, can this bestow 
Joy to the mind where sits a settled woe ? 



SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 35j 

No ! 'twas not here her agitated mind, 

In gloomy grandeur, pleasure hop 'd to find. 

Deep-rooted grief sat pictur'd in her face, 

The roses from her cheeks retir'cl apace ; 

Dejection mark'd each action of her life, 

And, tho' a bride, she seem'd a widow'd wife. 

Sir Hildebrand observed her secret woe, 

He knew the cause, nor more desir'd to know, 

But since not love incited him to wed, 

A sullen cheerless life with her he led ; 

A secret jealousy possess'd his mind, 

At best not much to gentleness inclin'd. 

And thus that grief her bosom felt before, 

By his unkindness now increas'd the more, 

And all her days and nights, with care o'ercast, 

In silent sad solicitude are past; 

No friend a kindly comfort to impart, 

Or sooth the sorrows of her anguish'd heart. 

Young Sibert, when he left his love-lorn fair, 
In all the anguish of desponding care, 
Madden'd with rage, by disappointment torn, 
Awhile he wander'd thro' the land forlorn. 
Absorb'd in all the mis'ry of thought, 
Listless of where he went, or what he sought ; 
It chanc'd that then along the southern coast, 
Britannia's pow'rs were drawn, a numerous host, 
In all the glare of martial pomp array'd, 
With their proud ensigns gaudily display 'd ; 



358 SIBERT AND ELEANOR, 

Their vessels further than the eye could reach, 
A floating forest stretch'd along the beach. 
The lion-hearted Richard bore command, 
Of the vast armament upon the strand, 
Which were ere long to seek the Holy Land ; 
For now thebanner'd cross was rais'd on high, 
Crusade the watchword, and the common cry. 
All Christendom pours forth in hostile swarms, 
Saints and assassins all are cas'd in arms, 
And each his fortune seeks in Palestine, 
Amid the fight with mighty Saladine. 
Gay look'd the sons of Britain's hardy race, 
Whilst martial ardour flush'd each soldier's faces 
And all impatient wait the fav'ring gale, 
And ling'ring signal for their fleets to sail. 
With these young Sibert bravely volunteer'd, 
Nor stormy waves, nor hostile armies, fear'd ; 
But hopes at least, 'midst oriental foes, 
If not to win renown, to lose his woes. 
E'vn death itself to him no horror bears, 
Since worse than death his present state appears ; 
'Reft of his Eleanor, all pleasure fled, 
Fast on his health care like a canker fed. 
Yet, tho' thus doom'd to visit her no more, 
Again to heav'n the faithful Sibert swore, 
That neither time nor place should once estrange 
His thoughts from her, or his affections change. 
But, tho' thus cruelly compell'd to part, 
She still should be the mistress of his heart. — 



SIBEjRT AND ELEANOR. 359 

Fair blew th' auspicious winds ; the troops on board; 
The signal made, the squadrons were unmoor'd; 
The swelling canvas rustles in the breeze, 
And swift the vessels glide along the seas. 
Amongst the rest, he desp'rate joins the host, 
To try his fortune on the Syrian coast. 
Now o'er the seas the fleets impatient glide, 
Now ply their sounding oars — now ste mthe tide : 
Now headlong drive before the steady gale, 
And now by turns unreef or shorten sail. 
Whilst far extended o'er the azure deep, 
The lengthen'd navy bears with ample sweep ; 
And now they reach Sicilia's far-fam'd isle, 
Within whose ports they rendezvous awhile. 
And with Mysenean cheer the troops prepare, 
To brave the dangers of the coming war. 

Not far from here terrific JEtna lies, 
Whose spiky summit rears above the skies, 
Perpetual verdure smiles around its base, 
Whilst everlasting snows its tops embrace. 
Beneath, volcanic fires its caverns rend, 
Whilst high in air the mounting flames ascend ; 
With roar tremendous, whilst the burning tide 
Carries dire devastation far and wide ; 
And mingling streams of flame, and heavier stone. 
Are o'er the isle in dreadful torrents thrown $ 
Enceladus, as ancient fables prove, 
O'ercomeby the omnipotence of Jove, 



360 SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 

For waging proud rebellion with the skies, 
Transfix'd beneath the pond'rous mountain lies; 
And, when he turns his weary side to ease, 
Convulsions dire its inmost caverns seize ; 
And from its yawning mouths destruction pours, 
Which, hurl'd in air, descends in flaming show'rs ; 
And headlong bearing down with hideous blaze, 
The torrid cat'ract rolls by diff'rent ways. 
Then forests, cities, populace, and all, 
In undistinguish'd ruin sadly fall ; 
Whilst clouds of suffocating ashes toss'd 
In air, obscure the day, and strew the coast. 
Now from the ports of Sicily once more, 
The fleets depart to seek the Cyprian shore ; 
Where royal Richard sends to crave supplies, 
Of needed stores for him and his allies. 
But Isaac, then the sov'reign of the land, 
Refuses to comply with his demand; 
And, spite of ev'ry stipulation made, 
He churlishly withholds the needed ai& 
Which, like a Christian prince, (so stood the laws,) 
He should have yielded to the common cause. 
Rous'd by resentment at the foul offence 
And base affront, the lion-hearted prince 
Prepares the monarch's baseness to chastise, 
Who his request thus proudly durst despise. 
The soldiers instantly receive command, 
To quit their ships, and hasten to the land. 



SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 36l 

The ready troops at the command proceed 
To seize their arms, and disembark with speed ; 
Sibert amongst the rest undaunted goes, 
Careless how destiny of him dispose. 
Without a motive he adopts the strife, 
Heedless of honour, and still more of life ; 
All that could stimulate to glory most, 
In losing Eleanor, young Sibert lost. 
Yet, tho' no mistress' smiles his heart may cheer, 
Resentment nerv'd his arm, and aim'd his spear; 
For where he fought, vindictive was his wrath, 
And dire destruction mark'd his fatal path. 

But soon the Cypriats, by superior might 
O'erborne, relinquish the unequal fight. 
Their prince a pris'ner, tyrant now nk more, 
The kingdom yields, and owns the victor's pow'r; 
Who close the hapless captive king retains, 
Loaden with infamy arid galling chains. 
Nor here his portion of misfortune ends, 
The conq'ror he to Palestine attends. 
There, to the Infidels, forc'd to proclaim 
Great Richard's might, but most of all his shame* 

At length once more from Cyprus they remove, 
(Once the gay country of the Queen of Love,) 
And strive with spreading sails, and lab 'ring oars, 
With speed to gain the hostile Syrian shores ; 
Nor long in vain their voyage they pursue, 
Ere Jaffa's far-fam'd port th' adventurers view. 

3 A 



362 SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 

Various and strange sensations now possess 'd 
Alike the sov'reign and the subjects' breast ; 
Some by the saints exhorted to depend 
On faith ; and gain salvation in the end. 
Some, by their leaders taught to scorn alarms, 
Rely on courage, and to practise arms ; 
One dreams of glory, others of disgrace, 
And sad anxiety pervades each face ! 

But now the vessels strike the hostile strand - s 
All fears subside, and quick the warriors land. 
Along the winding shores the fleets remain, 
Their spreading camps wide occupy the plain. 
Each their respective leaders rang'd around, 
Or mov'd by the harsh trumpet's clang'rous sound ; 
Aloft in air the sacred ensigns wave, 
Whose sign the Christian soldier courage gave. 
Whilst all the martial host with busy care, 
JFor the approaching conflict now prepare. 

Refresh'd awhile, the hostile pow'rs proceed 
To the commencement of the war with speed. 
Seige follows seige, and fight succeeds on right. 
Nor discord rages more by day than night. 
Great Godfrey's* prowess wide destruction spread, 
And Richard's name the nation heard with dread. 



* Godfrey, Count of Bologne. The name of Richard was so terrible 
in Palestine, that mothers to intimidate and quiet their clamorous infanti, 
used to tell them that King Richard was coming, ai narses talk now -a-da>* 
of raw head and bloody bones, 



SlBERT AND ELEANOtt* 36$ 

Where'er amid the ranks of war he press'd, 

The harlot Fortune hover'd o'er his crest. 

And now the encreasing war more furious grows/ 

The Saracens their mightiest force oppose ; 

The Land of Promise shakes with loud alarms, 

And Salem's city thunders forth to arms. 

Christians and Infidels, with equal ire* 

Menace revenge, with desolation dire ! 

Ere long the hostile pow'rs with martial rage> . 

In sight of fair Jerusalem engage ; 

Infernal vengeance stalks athwart the plain, 

With carnage dy'd, and heaps of mangled slain. 

Swords clash with swords^ and shield encounters 

shield, \ 

And death and discord rage throughout t|ie field. 

Amongst the rest, amid this scene _o^t>lood, 
Young Sibert long superior force withstood ; 
With heaps of slaughter'd foes entrench'd around, 
He, like a tyger, furious keeps his ground ; 
Wounded, at length, o'erpow'r'd, and out of breath, 
Reluctantly he leaves the work of death ! 
And slow retiring, from the battle past, 
Supported by a friend, to breathe his last ! 
Whom he adjur'd to promise on his word, 
One last sad friendly office to afford. 
This was, when dead, his faithful heart to bear 5 
Eneas'd in gold, to Eleanor the fair ! 

3a2 ' 



364 SIBERT AND ELEANOR, 

The only token left, by which to prove 

His matchless constancy and deathless love ! 

With various changes ended the campaign, 
And Europe's sons their countries seek again. 
Amongst the rest the friend of Sibert came, 
With his sad present for the hapless dame -, 
Who, tho' another lord her hand possess'd, 
He ne'er had gain'd an int'rest in her breast^ 
But mournful ever, tho-' a wedded wife, 
She with a husband led a widow'd life ! 
Who, jealous of the littleness of love 
He shar'd in her, by ev'ry method strove 
That little as it was, to render less, 
By cruelty, which doubled her distress. 
Sullen in rage, but in that rage severe, 
Sir Hildebrand might stand without a peer. 

Quite punctual to his charge, the faithful friend 
Of Sibert, now his journey at an end, 
To Eleanor, in spite of danger, went, 
The faithful heart and casket to present. 
But such was the determin'd will of Fate, 
That, ere the stranger reach'd the castle-gate* 
He met Sir Hildebrand upon the way, 
Who forc'd the unwilling messenger to stay ; 
And, maugre each equivocating shift, 
From him extorts his mission, and the gift. 
With which well pleas'd, he to the castle hies, 
Mix'd joy and vengeance sparkling in his eyes. 



SIEERT AND EtEANOR. 365 

But carefully the fatal charge belays* 
Nor by one act his foul design betrays $ 
But with an hypocritic meanness tries 
The baseness of his purpose to disguise ; 
Appears to be more affable and gay, 
And with his wife the evening chats away. 
But schemes of dire revenge and hellish rage 
Beneath this seeming calm his soul engage. 
The ev'ning come, the knight all courteous grown 3 
Supp'd with his beauteous Eleanor alone. 
<c Cast off that pensive gloom, fair dame, (he cried,) 
Nor thus for ever be the mourning bride ; 
What boots this grief that preys upon thy mind ? 
Can I, thy husband, be more fond, more kind ? 
For thee with plenty teems my spacious hall, 
And are not all my servants at thy call ? 
Then let thy smiles, sweet Eleanor, impart 
That joy that ought to cheer a husband's heart. 
This ev'ning, as I rang'd along the grove, 
I slew for thee, in token of my love, 
The finest deer that e'er took archer's aim ; 
Its heart shall be thy. supper, lovely dame ! 
Then eat, be cheerful, give the winds thy woes, 
And let thy husband's bosom find repose/' 
Mov'd by his courtesy and kindly treat, 
With more than usual cheerfulness she eat. 
And, as she thought his kindness was unfeign'd 3 
Consum'd the whole of what the dish containU 



$66 SIBERT AND ELEANOR. 

The brutal monster, gladden'd to the soul 
Thus to succeed in artifice so foul, 
With laughter cried — u Now, lovely lady, say, 
How did you relish this your supper, pray ? 
I think you greatly seem'd t' enjoy the zest, 
And so you might, when you shall know the rest 
That heart, which you so greedily have eat, 
Once in the bosom of young Sibert beat ! 
In Palestine he fell ! and, ever true, 
Bequeath'd it as a legacy to you I" 

Quite petrified with horror at the deed, 
She answer'd not, but seiz'd the dish with speed ; 
And with her tongue she lick'd it o'er and o'er, 
As if resolv'd on all, if it were more ; 
Nor spoke a word — nor from the room retir'd — 
But rais'd a scream of horror — and expir'd ! 




367 

THE 

UNFORTUNATE WANDERER. 



V^OLD, cold blew the wind o'er the brows of 

King Harry,* 
The hoar on the hether fell heavy and chill, 
The day far declin'd, when, dejected and weary, 
A traveler slow wound down the slope of the hill. 
Lank famine and want in his face were depicted, 
His limbs with the cold and fatigue seem'd con- 
stricted, 
His looks spoke a heart with deep anguish afflicted, 
And mis'ry had mark'd him with masterly skill. 

To the mansion of wealth his weak steps were di- 
rected, 

In hopes an asylum through pity to find ; 

But often by wealth are the needy neglected^ 

Their hearts are more cold than the tempest be-, 
hind ; 

For spite of entreaties, the poor hapless ranger 

Is thrust from the portal, 'midst darkness and 
danger, 

No sympathy here for the sad sinking stranger ; 

The wild waste receives him, and cold blows the 
wind. 

* A mountain in the eastern part of Cumberland. 



368 THE UNFORTUNATE WANDERER, 

By the side of a hedge, which the tempest was 

tearing, 
The wand'rer sunk down, his sad fate to deplore ; 
" Ah ! Erin, (he cried, for his country was Erin,) 
Dear, dear happy land ! I shall see thee no more I 
For here, by barbarity unprecedented, 
I languish unseen, and expire unlamentecl, 
Whilst all my complaints are from hearing pre? 

vented, 
And drown'd by the whirlwinds that round me 

loud roar. 

Oh, Albion ! where lives now thy boasted humanity? 
That clemency, partial, extends not to me ; 
No vestige I find of remaining urbanity, 
^yhich if it once flourish'd, now ceases to be. 
The savage who ranges the desert most dreary, 
Whom reason ne'er taught, nor religion more 

cheary, 
Wouldnot thus have spurn'd a poor wand'rer when 

weary, 
And left him to die at the foot of a tree." 

I ask'd but a morsel to stay my keen hunger, 
I ask'd but a shield from the cold and the rain, 
With common compassion what claims can be 

stronger, 
But such with the selfish but seldom obtain. 



THE UNFORTUNATE WANDERER. 369 

For sordidly fearful of my sad remaining, 
Unmov'd by my anguish, and deaf to complaining, 
They thrust me away, all entreaties disdaining, 
And left me to languish in mis'ry and pain. 

- : Bewildered, unknown, 'inongst a people inhuman^ 
Where pity ne'er dwelt her kind aid to impart ; 
With no kindly ray the drear waste to illumine, 
No friend to support me, or sooth my sad heart. 
Ah 1 little suppose you, my dear, dear connections, 
My babes, my Alicia, what piercing reflections 
Engage my sad bosom ! the sad retrospections 
Increase my keen anguish and double the smart ! 

Sick, sick is my heart, whilst around the storm 

musters, 
The cold hand of death seems to sink to my soul ; 
Unheedful I hear the loud tempest that blusters, 
Unmindful I note the big gusts as they howl. 
Sensation scarce lives, oh ! just heav'n, forgive me* 
If, dying, the cruel I curse that outlive me, 
Who neither protection nor pity would give me, 
Expos'd to the rage of the storms as they roll." 

M Whose he that exclaims? (call'd a. voice, deeply 

sighing ;} 
Whose he that sustains all the rage of the storm ?" 
l * Heed not (he replied) a poor wand'rer now dying, 
To whom thy compassion no part can perform, 



70 THE UNFORTUNATE WANDERER. 

But if 'twas true pity thy heart actuated, 
Thy purpose by heav'n shall be compensated, 
And those who inhumanly spurn'd me be hated 
For cruelty that would a demon deform." 

" Live, live and despair not, (exclaim 'd the kind 

stranger.) 
Heav'n yet may restore thee to comfort and life ; 
And kindly support thee thro' hardships and danger, 
To visit thy country, thy friends, and thy wife." 
6i Ah ! no, (said the wand'rer,) each fond expecta- 
tion 
In me sadly sinks, being past consolation, 
The cold hand of death fast arrests each sensa* 

tion ;' ; — 
He sigh'd — and Death's silence concluded the 
strife ! 

Where sympathy sits in the soft heaving bosom, 
The eye, still responsive, a tear can bestow ; 
But where rancour crops pity's delicate blossom, 
Such tender emotions they seldom can know, 
Think, think, O ye sordid disciples of malice, 
Whose hearts to the cries of distress are still 

calous, 
That fate, which the convict receives at thegallowSj 
As properly Justice on you might bestow. 



37 i 



ODO THE PROUD, 



OF all the proud Normans to William that bow'd, 

When England with dole was o'erspread, 
Not one was more cruel, by all 'twas allow'd, 
Than he erst ycleped Sir Odo the Proud; 
For his name's yet remember'd with dread. 

His castle, the strongest perhaps of the day, 
Near the banks of the Solway then stood; 
Around the usurper's domains widely lay, 
His vassals were num'rous, despotic his sway* 
But his title was founded in blood ! 

A fam'd Saxon lord, yclad Morcar the Brave* 

Those manors had formerly held ; 
But Harold's sad fate to his countrymen gave 
A blow that soon threaten'd the whole to enslavei 

And Morcar his lands was expell'd. 

Now forc'd a small portion to till for his bread, 

Of his own once extensive estate, 
The indigent life of a vassal he led, 
His flocks the fair Hilda industriously fed^ 

And shar'd, quite resigned, in his fate, 
3b2 



372 ODO THE PROUD, 

Fair Hilda for beauty as widely renown'd, 

As Morcar for courage was fam'd ; 
With each female grace and each virtue was 

crown'd, 
On her even queens might with envy have frown'd, 

For the Rose of the North she was nam'd. 

It chanc'd as Sir Odo the field one day pass'd, 

Where Hilda was tending her care, 
His eyes on the unhappy beauty he cast, 
His passion was kindled, his heart flutter' d fast, 
And he ardently gaz'd on the fair. 

His pride and his pow'r each respect taught to 
scorn, 

For virtue his bosom ne'er knew, 
From Morcar what tho' his domains he had torn, 
And he forc'd to drudge in a state most forlorn, 

His Hilda must now be forc'd too. 

Thus fiVd with desire, which brutality warms, 

The tyrant rush'd on to the field; 
The poor helpless innocent seiz'd in his arms, 
And cried — u 'Tis in vain to refuse me those 
charms, 

Wliich, maugre resistance, must yield." 

Entreaty was vain where no pity was known, 

Resistance was equally vain ; 
Her shrieks rent the air, Odo's bosom alone 
Unmov'd could have heard such a pitiful moan, 

But here could no pity obtain. 



ODO THE PROUD* ' SJ $ 

Her cries Morcar heard, and he flew to her aid, 

For wings in his vengeance he found ; 
But poor was the effort, unarm'd, he assay'd 
His Hilda's defence, for the tyrant's keen blade 
Soon laid him a corpse on the ground ! 

Then quick from his hand the dire weapon she 
drew, 
Which strait thro* her bosom she thrust ! 
And thus she exclaim'd — " Bloody tyrant, here 

view 
A scene that ere long to thyself shall accrue, 
The reward of thy rage and thy lust !" 

Asham'd to behold, and distracted with rage, 

Away to the castle he press 'd ; 
But what shall his conflict of passions assuage- 
Here sharper reflections his bosom engage, 

And horror beat loud at his breast! 

No longer the chace can Sir Odo delight, 

No longer of pleasure can share ; 
Foul terrors torment him by day and by night, 
Two stern bloody spectres are still in his sight, 

And pride now gives way to despair. 

He solitude shuns with solicitous dread, 
Nor from company pleasure can take ; 
Gr when on his pillow he lays down his head, 
Expectant respose to obtain from his bed, 
More dreadful to dream thanaw r ake. 



374 ODO THE £>ROUD. 

The dying prediction of Hilda the fair 

Sunk deep in the knight's- guilty breast; 
Distrust and disquietude, join'd with despair^ 
Corroded his bosom and heighten'd his care, 
Whilst grandeur itself grew a pest. 

The curfew had toll'd, and the hamlet was stilly 

No sound near the castle w r as heard, 
Except the faint sound of the murmnng rill, 
Or winds hollow whistling along the bleak hill, 
By which scarce the aspen was stirr'd ; 

When, lo ! the great bell of the mansion was rung, 

As boding most dreadful alarms ; 
With horror and haste from his couch Odo sprung* 
His sword by his side in confusion he slung, 

And calfd his domestics to arms. 

To arms flew the servants, despair in each faee, 

For none the occasion could tell ; 
Loud shouts and wild uproar surrounded the place? 
The court and the castle appear'd in a blaze, 

And loud, and more loud rang the bell. 

It seem'cl as if hell had burst forth in a crowd, 

And fury permitted to range ; 
When still and anon was re-echo'd aloud— 
" Come forth, thou base tyrant! thou Odo the 
Proud ! 

ForMorcarand Hilda, revenge !" 



ODO THE PROUD, 375 

Sir Odo rush'd forth with his sword in his hand, 

T' examine the plight of the place ; 
But, horrible ! when he beheld the fell band, 
And Morcar, who furiously tossing a brand, 

Discharged it on Odo's wan face ! 

Quite stunn'd and confounded, he fell to the 
ground, 

Blue flames seem'd his corse to enshroud; 
A legion of spectres encompass'd him round;. 
Whilst each with his firebrand inflicted a wound^ 

Yelling-— " Perish, Sir Odo the Proud!" 

So said, the fell legion their clamour loud raise, 

Triumphant, tho 1 dreadful the roar ; 
The castle was rent from the top to the base, 
And dire devastation soon cover'd the place, 
But Odo was heard of no more ! 

The villagers, strangers oft show to the place 

Where once the proud fabric was seen ; 
The ground-plot the trav'ller may easily trace, 
The ditches without, and the vast inner space, 
And place where the portal had been. 

Yet still, as they say, on that night in the year, 
Round that place, by the moon's silver sheen, 
A legion of furies, with horrible cheer, 
Keep wassal, whilst torches and firebrands they 
bear. 
And dreadfully dance round the green ! 



376 ODO THE PROUD, 

And as with their gambols horrific the crowd 

In movements mysteriously strange, 
With hootings tremendous they halloo aloud — 
a Down, down thou base tyrant! .^ou Odo the 
Proud ! 
Thus we Morcar and Hilda revenge !" 



F I N I S 



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